


If You Lived Here (You'd Be Home By Now)

by kiath



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-04
Updated: 2006-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-31 02:55:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 33,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/339093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiath/pseuds/kiath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dom needs somewhere to live. Billy, Elijah and Orlando need a flatmate. No-one gets quite what they bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dominic

**Author's Note:**

> _Thanks to kyuuketsukirui for the beta._

"He was perfect! Didn't you think he was perfect?" Elijah beamed at Billy with unconcealed delight.

Billy narrowed his eyes. "He was okay. I wouldn't go so far as to say perfect."

He walked past Elijah, making his way into the living room and collapsing into the nearest armchair. Elijah perched on the sofa beside a gently snoring Orlando.

"Well, I think he was perfect. He was clean and polite and funny and _hot_ and-"

"We can't ask him to move in just because you fancy him, Elijah."

"I know that." Elijah slumped back against the cushions, a petulant look marring his forehead. "But we need someone soon. The rent..."

Billy sighed. "Don't you think he seemed a little bit too... normal?"

*

Dom's leg jiggled restlessly up and down as he peered through the misted-up window. The bus was barely moving, crawling through the rush hour traffic a single foot at a time. Dom felt like ringing the bell in frustration and jumping off, but the route was unfamiliar, especially in the dreary November drizzle. He smoothed over the condensation coating the window pane and wiped his damp hand down his thigh. The watery glass allowed him a little more of a view, a few more glances of identical terrace houses and nameless corner shops, but within minutes it had steamed up again. He didn't bother trying a second time.

Despite the sullen landscape and miserable weather, Dom's mood remained resolutely unspoilt. Even the kids at the back didn't annoy him, playing their tinny hip hop through mobile phone speakers and passing a single cigarette around. Nothing could ruin today, not now he finally had somewhere to go. 

Being homeless was never really something Dom had considered before. Not that he was immune to the realities of the issue - he was a city boy, after all - but he'd never seen himself as the type to end up without a roof. Whatever that 'type' was, he wasn't it. After all, he worked (sometimes), he had plenty of friends (when it suited them), and he always had a back-up plan whose bed he could charm his way into (if needs be).

But karma being the way it was meant all of his carefully prepared contingency plans had come to nothing, just when he needed them most.

Dom hadn't been prepared for Andrew to dump him. Dom was never really prepared for being labelled The Bad Guy, no matter how many times it happened. Maybe he should have been prepared for the vast amounts of vodka he chose to pour down his throat, knowing only too well it never quite agreed with him, but then Dom wasn't the biggest fan of careful self-reflection. Raucous drunken fun and quick toilet fucks are all very well, but when the raucous drunken fun is in the company of so-called mutual friends, and the quick toilet fuck not courtesy of The Boyfriend, things start to go awry. 

Righteous gossip moves fast, Dom learnt.

It was only a day or two later that Dom came home to find Andrew waiting for him in the bedroom, head in his hands, fully packed case by his side. Dom was ready to fall at his feet and beg him not to leave; after all, there was no way he could afford to take on the full cost of the rent alone. In the end he didn't need to worry - Andrew had helpfully stowed all of _Dom's_ belongings into that one, measly-sized baggage.

"I want you out."

Dom didn't argue. He had known Andrew's feelings on monogamy when he grabbed at that stranger's collar and initiated their advance to the toilet stall. And he had been aware, just as his nameless conquest scrabbled at Dom's fly, that if word got back to Andrew it would mess things up for good. But it wasn't enough to make Dom stop; in fact, it only made his orgasm sweeter. 

Despite the initial shock, freedom from an increasingly dull relationship had felt fantastic for all of ten minutes. Dom had lumbered down to the bus stop with his suitcase, guitar and Tesco carrier bag of CDs swiped as he left, pulling out a handful of change and smiling at the young mother who waited there with her grizzling toddler. It was only once he was aboard the Number 197 and rolling on through Penge that he realised he didn't have a clue where he was going. 

His - or rather, Andrew's - friends hung up on him, if they answered at all. Their loyalty lay with the victim, not the cheating shit of a boyfriend. One by one they abused, lectured, and disowned. Soon enough, Dom realised that this time he was on his own.

*

"Who is it?"

An American accent floated through the tiny gap between the door and its frame. Dom smiled, bemused. He leaned forward a little and enunciated his words carefully.

"Hey, Elijah. It's Dominic. Can you let me in?"

The door shut fully in Dom's face. A little rattling - the releasing of the security chain, Dom realised - and it clicked open again. When it became obvious Elijah wasn't going to pull it wider, Dom placed the flat of his hand against the wood and swung open the door to his new home. 

The entrance hall was long and dark. He could make out the stairs dead ahead, and doorways leading off both right and left, although this was more from memory than his actual ability to make out real detail. 

He dropped his carrier bag gratefully onto the floor, bumping his guitar case against the wall in the process. Dom thought he heard a sharp intake of breath behind him as it made contact, but Elijah was nowhere to be seen. 

With his case indoors, Dom pushed the door shut and groped blindly against the right-hand wall for a light switch. 

"Other side."

"Elijah?" Dom switched to the opposite wall and traced his fingers over textured wallpaper until they hit the more familiar feeling of plastic. Light filled the hallway, and Dom blinked rapidly until his pupils adjusted. 

On the stairs in front of him sat Elijah; he was perched half way to the first curve and smiling happily. Dom smiled politely back, wanting to be sarcastic about the awkward entrance he had been forced to make but somehow managing to bite his tongue. It was too early to get kicked out, even for Dom. 

"Hi! You're here!" Elijah chirped. "It's so cool that you're here. You want some help carrying all that upstairs?" His initial shyness seemingly forgotten, he abandoned his post on the stairs and made his way over to where Dom was standing, dripping on the doormat. "Oh my God, you're _soaking_! Is it raining out there? I didn't know. Here, let me take your coat for you."

Dom shrugged his parka off and handed it to Elijah, smiling gratefully. Elijah barely paused for breath. 

"Come on, I'll show you upstairs. Unless you don't want me to? You know where your room is, right? I mean, you saw it before, and all. But I don't mind helping, taking some of this stuff for you."

Elijah reached for Dom's suitcase and guitar, beaming as he picked up the instrument.

"It's so cool that you have a guitar. Can you play? Are you good? I tried to learn once, but I sucked. Maybe you could teach me, if you're not busy sometime. You don't have to, I mean, only if you're bored and-"

"Hi, Elijah. Nice to see you again." Dom cut in unceremoniously, holding out his hand and slapping on his most charming grin. He instantly regretted the interruption, since it seemed to dawn on Elijah that he had been babbling. His cheeks coloured up and he dropped the guitar back down instantly. 

"Shit. Sorry. Hi." He took Dom's hand and shook it a little stiffly, as if he wasn't sure quite how enthusiastic to make his belated greeting. Reaching again for Dom's belongings, he turned and made his way to the stairs, half-dragging the suitcase behind him. Dom shook his head with a bemused smile and reached for the carrier bag at his feet.

"You don't have to do that, I can manage."

"No, no, it's fine," replied Elijah, pulling the luggage up the first couple of steps. "It's really not that heavy."

As he spoke, he yanked Dom's case another step, whacking the head of the guitar case into the wall. He glanced over his shoulder with a horrified expression.

"Shit! Shit, I'm sorry!"

"It's fine," Dom replied carefully, far keener on preserving his residency in the house than his battered old nylon-string. "Let me take the suitcase from you, yeah?"

Elijah relented in the face of defeat, and Dom squeezed between the bag and the wall to take over, swapping the heavy luggage for the less strenuous bag of CDs. He lifted it best he could and made several awkward steps to the landing before dropping it back down with a heavy exhalation. "First on the left, yeah?"

"That's the one."

The bedroom looked exactly as Dom remembered it: the carpet was old and a little threadbare in places, but Dom liked the gaudy sixties pattern enough to overlook such minor things; a double bed sat square in the middle of the room, a large and rather heavy looking wardrobe on the far wall, and a small desk and chair beneath the window. It was spartan and unloved, but it was his. 

He walked over to the window and drew the curtains, though he had no view to speak of on a night like this. As with the bus, condensation clouded the pane. Dom unscrewed the lock and pushed the sash window upwards. The chintzy curtains billowed outwards and a dusting of rain instantly marked the inside of the sill. 

Dom stared out into the blackness for a few seconds before remembering himself and turning back to Elijah, who hovered nervously in the doorway, peering in as if unsure of his welcome.

When Dom smiled, he smiled uncertainly back. "So... You _do_ still want the room, then?"

There was no question of Dom backing out of this place now he was here. But in all honesty, had he not been so enamoured with the price and so intrigued by the rag-bag of future flatmates, he knew he might have given up on it a long time ago.

Billy in particular had been hard work. 

"So. Why d'you want to live here?"

Billy's delivery was terse, and a clipped Glasgow accent didn't help in the slightest. Dom had blinked, a little taken aback by his manner. 

"I, um... Well." Dom had smiled, looking from Billy to Elijah. Billy scowled, impatient for an answer, while Elijah smiled cheerfully back, displaying a row of odd little teeth. Dom cleared his throat nervously. "Well. It seems like a great place... Um, nice... kitchen. And you guys seem really-"

"Nice?" Elijah piped up, still beaming at Dom. "We are! We're really nice, aren't we, Billy?"

Billy just scowled at Elijah and then back at Dom. 

"We're seeing a lot of other people. We'll call you if we're interested."

Dom tried to impress just how keen he was on taking the room, but Billy was evidently quite done with talking. He left the room, abandoning Dom with Elijah. No great hardship. 

"He's always grumpy. Don't talk it personally," Elijah whispered. "Do you really like it here?"

"Yeah, I do. It's got a nice atmosphere." 

Elijah's face lit up again. "It _has_ , hasn't it? Not everyone agrees, but I love it."

Elijah had promised to speak to Billy to chivvy things along. And true to his word, he had. Billy had left a gruff message on Dom's answerphone asking him to visit for another chat. 

It was a hassle, the house being out of his way, but Dom was just happy to still be in the running. Plus, it meant he didn't have to suffer Luke's none-too-subtle hints for one evening.

Luke was the only mutual friend who hadn't taken a side in the split. He had just shrugged, shown Dom the living room and left him to it. 

"I won't be here long," Dom had promised. "Just till I get somewhere to live."

Not long had become a fortnight, and a fortnight had somehow become a month. Losing patience with his lodger, Luke went about evicting Dom with unpleasant tactics: overly noisy sex late at night, loud music first thing in the morning; and finally the last straw: withholding of the formerly mutual bog roll. 

Billy's ad hadn't appeared a moment too soon. 

*

_Room available in house share. All mod cons, bills inc., Clapham S. £95 p/w._

* 

"So... How come it's so cheap here? Is it haunted or something?"

Billy stared coolly back at Dom, narrowing his eyes. "We asked you back here to find out exactly what you're not telling us."

Elijah laughed nervously. "What he means is, to get to know you better."

"No." Billy glared at Elijah. "I meant exactly what I said: what aren't you telling us?"

Dom swallowed. He needed this place, but he had a feeling he might not necessarily _want_ it anymore. 

"I don't know what you're asking, mate." He glanced over at Elijah, whose eyes were now trained obediently on the table top between them. "Do you want to check my criminal record, read my school reports, speak to my mum? What?"

Billy sighed, his frustration evident. "Look, I'll be straight with you, Dominic. People don't stay here long. Don't ask me why, they just don't. Now, we're very welcoming people, and we _do_ want to offer you the room. But we don't like secrets, and we don't like time-wasters."

He carefully enunciated the last few words, his thick accent making each staccato syllable just a little threatening.

Dom glanced once more at Elijah, and still receiving no help let out a little nervous laugh. "Erm, well, I _am_ a blood sucking demon."

Elijah's head shot up as he squeaked, his eyes widening to almost inhuman proportions. 

"He's joking, Elijah, calm down," said Billy with a heavy sigh.

Dom grinned. "Yeah, sorry. I gave up the blood sucking a long while ago."

Billy was scowling, fixing Dom with a pointed look that wiped the cheerful smile off his face. 

"Just answer the question. I have a lot of other people interested who won't fuck me around, you know."

"Okay, sure." Dom glanced from Billy to Elijah, back to Billy and once more to Elijah. "I hoped that this sort of thing wouldn't be a problem, but, yeah. I'm gay. Is it going to be an issue?"

Elijah let out a soft 'oh' and smiled. Dom grinned back at him, already sizing up the opportunities. Billy just heaved out another great sigh and slumped back in his chair. 

"That's it? You're a shirt-lifter?"

Dom smiled gallantly. "Well, I do prefer plain old 'gay'. But yeah, I am."

He waited a few seconds before speaking up again. 

"So... Do I get the room?"

Elijah stared at Billy with huge, pleading eyes. Billy stared back at him, finally defeated, before turning to Dom. 

"When can you move in?"


	2. Elijah

"You really don't have to do this, you know."

Dom glanced over his shoulder at Elijah and shrugged casually. "It's a pleasure. You've given me somewhere to live, so a house meal is the least I can do."

Elijah smiled at Dom's back, not caring that he couldn't see. He was smiling a lot recently. It felt good, like a holiday from his self-pity.

Having Dom move in was the best decision Billy had ever made; at least, the best since asking Elijah himself to take a room. Admittedly, it was a little nerve-wracking, given their history; the last two tenants had been a disaster, one moving back out within a week after finding dog crap in their room three days in a row, the other practically running for her life, screaming that the building needed blessing.

Blessing. Elijah hadn't heard anything so dumb in his life. He believed whole-heartedly their house was already blessed, and he'd said as much at the time. Billy had laughed at Elijah's intensely earnest defence, but later admitted while drunk that, secretly, he thought so too.

"Can I help?"

Dom shook his head before throwing a smile Elijah's way.

"I told you, this is for you guys. I don't want you to lift a finger, or it's completely pointless."

"What are you cooking?"

"Monaghanaise," Dom replied. "You like it?"

Dom didn't offer any explanation, leaving Elijah to ponder if the dish was some British delicacy the others had never told him about. He chewed his lip a little while deciding on an answer, eventually settling for a chirpy, "Sure!"

"You do?" Dom stopped whatever he was doing at the counter, turning to fix Elijah with a vaguely suspicious expression.

"I said so, didn't I?"

"You did," agreed Dom. "So, what's your favourite ingredient?"

"The, umm..." Elijah gestured vaguely at the vegetables beside Dom. "The... cucumber."

Dom paused for a second, before reaching for the phallic vegetable behind him. "This? It's a courgette, Elijah, not a cucumber."

"I knew that! Whatever."

"You can stop being so polite, you know." Dom went back to his chopping, and Elijah dropped his face into his hands in embarrassment. "Monaghan's my surname, and _Monaghanaise_ is my signature non-dish. Any vegetable you can find chucked into the oven for an hour with a few bits of chicken. Cheap and cheerful, ideal for dole scum like me."

"Oh. Well, it sounds great." Elijah wandered over to where Dom was standing and watched him slice into the courgette with a stubby knife. He stared at an unattractive-looking purple and beige vegetable before pointing it out. "What's that one?"

"This?" Dom frowned in a way that made Elijah feel stupid. "You've never seen one of these before?"

Elijah shrugged, wishing he knew when to stop asking questions. "Mom wasn't that adventurous a cook. We lived on take-out and chips, mostly."

"It's a good job I'm here then, isn't it? I'll teach you a thing or two, don't worry."

The wink that accompanied Dom's promise made Elijah's stomach twist, just a little. He knew Dom wasn't flirting with him, not really, but it was as close as anyone had come to playing that game in a long time.

He never liked to think precisely how long. Too many days stuck indoors, watching people pass in the street and wondering how he ever took the outside world for granted. It was the little things he missed the most: being able to walk to the gas station and pick up a pack of cigarettes; choosing a new CD in an actual music store, rather than ordering it online and waiting days for delivery; picking someone up in Soho and waking up the next morning not knowing where the hell he was, only that he'd had the time of his life the night before.

The little things stopped being quite so little when the house became Elijah's whole world.

Shaking off his depressing train of thought, Elijah dragged himself back to the moment. "So? What is it, Martha Stewart?"

"Martha Stewart? Christ, can't I be Jamie Oliver, at the very least?" laughed Dom. "Okay, culinary education. This," he pointed to the ugly vegetable, "is a turnip."

"Oh! Yeah, I know that one. Well, I don't _know it_ , but I've heard of it." Elijah glanced over at the rest of the vegetables waiting to be prepared. "I do know a few of these, at least. That's a yam, right? We used to have those at Christmas."

"Sweet potato, actually. But same difference."

"Maybe I'm not such a novice after all," Elijah said, feeling inordinately proud of himself.

Dom raised his eyebrows, nodding his head slowly as if he was considering the idea. "Possibly. Or maybe it only took the last few minutes for you to assimilate my genius."

Elijah tried to suppress a giggle, but failed miserably, causing Dom to laugh too.

"Bloody hell, Elijah. That's some cackle you've got there."

"I know." Elijah covered his embarrassment the only way he could: with falsely confident self-deprecation. "My sister used to say that Mom was possessed during labour."

Dom smiled, slicing into the courgette. "It's not _that_ bad, just different. Anyway, it's nice to have an infectious laugh. It makes everyone else happy at the same time."

Elijah bit back a delighted grin and excused himself from the kitchen, claiming he wanted to shower before Billy came home from work and hogged all the hot water. He took the stairs two at a time and locked himself securely in the bathroom, before putting the toilet lid down and taking a seat.

"Oh, man." He closed his eyes and sighed heavily. "He's so damn _nice_. Don't you think?"

The shower curtain slid back, scraping over the metal rail that stretched from one end of the tub to the other. The cold tap turned on full, followed by the hot, and water began to stream from the shower head.

"Thanks. Does that mean you agree?"

Steam began to drift up towards the ceiling, clouding the less-than-appealing sight of mildew on the paintwork. Elijah glanced around, trying to work out where to direct his conversation.

"Even if you don't think so, I want you to be nice to this one. Please?" Elijah tried a stern look as he pulled off his t-shirt. "He's been really good to me since he got here, really friendly. And he makes me smile. It's been ages since I made a new friend, you know that."

Elijah didn't need to say it out loud to confirm what they both knew: discounting his forced allegiance with Billy, Elijah had been alone for a long time.

Saul was one of the last people to come into Elijah's life. He had flirted shamelessly with Elijah, plying him with expensive drinks and eventually taking him home. Elijah knew he was naive, but he still cringed at how easily he had been impressed with obvious wealth - the riverside apartment overlooking the city, giant television, top of the range Mac... Not to mention the biggest bed Elijah had ever seen. He had lusted after the lifestyle almost as much as he did the man himself. And it was fun; getting screwed by Saul felt like a weekend in the Hilton.

They shared a bottle of champagne afterwards, Elijah's first since his eighteenth birthday (his mother hadn't approved, said that sort of behaviour was best saved for twenty-one, but his father had just chuckled at her old fashioned attitudes and popped the cork). Saul drank champagne like it was tap water, encouraging Elijah to be less reverent.

"There's plenty more in the kitchen, don't worry."

Light-headed, excited, and delightfully out of his depth, Elijah revelled in being seduced a second time. He melted willingly against the bed sheets, his drunkenness like a warm blanket and his arousal sending tingles through his body.

"You smell so good," Saul murmured, nuzzling against Elijah's neck, kiss-kiss-biting until he had Elijah squirming with pleasure. "I want to keep you. Is that okay?"

Elijah remembered little more than the beginnings of his orgasm, panting out whatever response it took to keep Saul's hand where it was.

_Yes._

It was a tiny word. Positive, and welcoming. Elijah had always believed in being both positive _and_ welcoming in the past. But repeating the affirmation over and over as he came became the biggest mistake of his life.

Elijah took great care climbing out of the bath; blacking out had become a major phobia since that night, and it was too easy to slip and fall on a wet floor.

He pulled his towel from the rail and sniffed at it. It smelt stale, like wet dog, and he regretted his decision to leave the laundry for another day. He scrubbed at his hair until it was just damp, before drying his body with efficient strokes and tying the towel around his waist. As he gathered up his clothes from the floor, the shower curtain pulled back across by itself. Elijah smiled and rolled his eyes.

"I know, I know. Open the window, too, right?"

Unlatching and heaving up the frosted glass pane, Elijah shook his head. "A little bit of air won't make much difference, you know - this place is damp from floor to ceiling already. It was like that before we moved in, _you_ just won't admit it." He clutched at the towel with his one free hand as it began to slip. "Anyway, stop looking at me naked, you pervert."

After dressing in his room and running a cursory hand through his hair, Elijah headed back downstairs to find Dom sat at the kitchen table, book in one hand and cigarette burning between the fingers of the other. The meal was clearly well on its way to completion, judging by the aroma. Elijah sniffed, smiled, and took a seat opposite.

"Wow, that smells amazing."

Dom fixed him with a skewed look, pursing his lips. "The food, or the fag?"

"The, um, the food." Elijah felt a sudden surge of confidence, flashing a grin across the table. "But you smell wonderful, too."

His quip earned an appreciative chuckle, and Elijah felt that little twist again.

_I'm not flirting with him. I'm just being welcoming. Making him feel at home. I'm not flirting with him._

_Much._

*

Dom stared at his bedroom window for a full five minutes. By the time he turned to leave the room, the source of his bemusement had started to melt away, rivulets of moisture sliding down the glass and merging with others below.

Elijah's bedroom door was closed and the light appeared to be off; he had gone to bed half an hour or so before Dom, who had chosen to sit in the living room and attempt to make conversation with Orlando. His friendly approaches were met with grunting indifference, and he was almost relieved when Billy arrived home from work in an obviously foul mood. It had given Dom an excuse to escape, to hide in the kitchen warming leftovers in the name of good flatmate PR.

He stared at the glass a little longer. Elijah was asleep, Billy clearly didn't want to be bothered unless it concerned food, and Orlando... well, he hardly seemed the type to go to for an explanatory chinwag at this time of night. Dom came to the conclusion that some things were just better left for daytime, and with decisive strokes he wiped over the words that had been neatly written into the condensation.

_This house is non-smoking. Thank you._


	3. Billy

Every fibre of Billy's brain rebelled against consciousness. He already felt a headache thumping at his temples, and knew that it was only a matter of time before it developed into an agonising migraine. The hands that shook him felt like ice, fingers digging painfully into his bare skin. 

"Billy, please wake up. Come on, please?"

Billy didn't need to open his eyes to know that, once again, he had passed out on the floor rather than in his own bed; the carpet beneath his cheek was wiry and smelt stale, like the house of a bed-ridden OAP. Despite this, he would have given anything for just five more minutes of blissful sleep. 

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. God, Billy, please, you have to wake up. It's late, he'll be up. He'll see."

Elijah's voice had taken on a shrill pitch. Giving in to the pleading, Billy opened his eyes. Daylight hit like a punch in the face, and he instinctively squeezed them shut again, groaning as he raised his hands to shield himself. 

"I know, it's really bright, but Dom will be up soon. You need to get up and get dressed. _Now_."

Elijah's hysterical pleading had dropped to a soothing murmur as soon as Billy began to show some signs of life. He felt Elijah's hand stroke comfortingly at his hair; he also felt the way it trembled.

"Billy, you crapped in his room again."

*

Coming to in the middle of the living room, naked, dazed and disorientated, was never something Billy relished. He was _used_ to it - more than a year's worth of rude awakenings had prepared him for such occasions - but it didn't make it any easier. Humiliation aside, the headaches were enough to fell him for at least a couple of days, bringing nausea and sickness and leaving him nigh on confined to a darkened bedroom until they had passed.

The initial shock of it all had been enough to make Billy want to stay in that darkened room forever, even after the migraine had faded. The doctors warned him about the medical symptoms after an attack, but they failed to mention how it might affect his life even when he knew he was safe. 

Scared of himself and how other people might react, Billy chose isolation from the world. He ordered take-away food instead of risking the supermarket, locked doors and windows, and pulled curtains closed. He lost his job soon enough. Had he used his medical notes wisely he knew would have been given some leeway - he was protected by law, after all, even if the Government did their best to keep it quiet - but it all seemed like too much effort, and his confidence was too shaken by those early attacks to pursue it. 

Billy suspected the authorities started to send Orlando round when bi-monthly check-ups at the surgery were purposefully forgotten. At first he refused to even let Orlando over the threshold, no matter how many times he flashed his credentials and offered soothing assurances that he was just there to help. It wasn't until his third attempt had failed that Orlando made clear the consequences. Shouting through the letter box, he explained that if Billy didn't accept medical help, they might try and put him away in an institution for his own safety. Billy listened to the carefully-worded warning, hidden from view, wondering why his own self-imposed exile from the outside world wasn't enough. 

Eventually, the kind tone and thinly-veiled threats wore down Billy's resistance. He opened the door and stared helplessly at Orlando. 

"If I let you in, you need to promise they won't put me away somewhere."

Orlando sighed. "I can't promise you anything right now. You just need to let me help you with this."

It had been so long since Billy had talked to anyone; his own voice sounded strange and unfamiliar. He listened sullenly to the questions Orlando asked about his condition, what he was doing to ease the symptoms, what medication he was on. Eventually Billy admitted he was doing nothing, taking nothing. There were questions about friends, relations, therapy. Who had he told? Billy just shook his head. He couldn't bear sharing this secret with anyone, not even his family. Orlando assured him it was healthy to talk about things. It would help. He even tried to convince Billy that joining a support group at the local hospital would help ease him into things. There were other people suffering, struggling and adjusting, just like him. And he would be safe; no one would judge him. 

Billy cried that day. It was the first time he let himself weep since his diagnosis, and, true to his word, Orlando barely reacted. He just placed a supportive hand on Billy's back and waited for the right time to offer more advice. 

His visits became a regular fixture after that. Billy didn't cry again, and he made a concerted effort with himself on the days he expected company. He dressed, even when he didn't feel like it, and he tried not to drink too heavily the night before to avoid bleary eyes and a sour temperament. He didn't always succeed - on more than one occasion Orlando had to prise a bottle from Billy's fingers, ignoring torrents of abuse and even a couple of ill-aimed punches - but he tried. 

He never expected things to turn out the way they did. He never expected to find Orlando on his doorstep several months later, dishevelled, unshaven, looking desperate for somewhere to hide. He never expected to find himself caring for the carer, taking a decision to do what needed to be done for the both of them. But then, as Billy soon realised, medical science really did have a fine way with irony.

*

"He's getting suspicious, you know."

It was the first thing Elijah had said in fifteen minutes. After helping Billy on with his dressing gown and getting him into the kitchen, he had silently gone about a routine perfected over months of repetition.

A pint glass of tepid water was already waiting on the table; not too cold, because Billy's teeth were especially sensitive on mornings like this, and not from the tap, because he could taste the chemicals too sharply. Elijah had read the pamphlets keenly, and knew Billy would need at least another glass: his condition meant he didn't drink until he felt particularly dehydrated. His tiredness would also make it hard for him to give in and down the liquid. 

Elijah sat and waited patiently as Billy gulped at his water, wincing with every mouthful, and rewarded him with a smile and replenished glass.

Once the first ritual was over, Elijah began to lay a selection of tablets out on the table. First came two doses of diazepam, medication prescribed to help avoid the panicky spells Billy suffered before and after an attack. 

One green and white capsule came next: fluoxetine, the one Billy resented the most. He wanted to believe that he had come to terms with his condition enough to not need anti-depressants; his past experiences with throwing the packets into the bin said otherwise. Anyway, as Elijah had pointed out countless times, they helped with his migraines.

Beside these Elijah placed dexamethasone, still on trial with Billy. The doctor had explained it was usually only prescribed for women with hirsutism, but trials on patients with Billy's condition had shown remarkable results. So he did as he was told, if only for reasons of vanity.

The last tablet came courtesy of Elijah's own private dispensary: a fat yellow pill, filled with liquid. Cod liver oil had been the bane of Billy's school days, but arguing with Elijah on the matter had proven pointless. He was adamant the capsule would help Billy's joints, always so stiff after an attack, and even backed it up with Internet research. 

Billy smiled ruefully as Elijah laid the supplement next to his line of prescription tablets, vaguely aware of the fact he was talking.

"I mean, I don't think he heard me cleaning up this morning. I was real quick. It's just the other things that have been happening."

Billy listened with one ear, mostly thinking how much he resented the line of medication in front of him. He hated being dependent on it all. If he complained, the doctors would always reel off test results and studies and focus group findings, but the condition was so rare Billy suspected the trial groups could never really be conclusive. The doctor even admitted there were no hard facts regarding combining this amount of medication, the long-term side affects, cancer and the like, but what choice was there? Billy had tried to survive without them, and he'd barely coped. 

"Billy? Did you hear me?"

Billy nodded slowly, still not ready to reply. 

"I think we need to tell him about Sean. I can't keep lying to him; he knows I'm not telling the truth."

Elijah paused, waiting for advice. His gaze was steady now that his panic had passed; Billy wondered if Elijah would ever get used to finding him in random parts of the house, stark naked and confused. 

"He keeps doing stuff to Dom's room. Knocking things over, flicking the lights... And that thing with the window? I had to tell him the landlord did it. Even I knew it sounded lame. He's not an idiot."

All Billy could do was nod again. His headache had faded a little, the regular kick in the balls when he came around, but it was starting to return on one side of his head. A familiar pressure, and the beginning of his migraine. He raised a heavy hand to his face and rubbed at his left eye, grimacing a little. 

"Shit. I'm sorry, it's not the time, is it? Look, take your pills. You'll feel better if you do. I'm sure I can handle Dom."

Billy dropped his hand and reached for the glass of water, giving Elijah a quizzical glance and a half-smile. Elijah grinned back, knocking at Billy's leg with his foot. 

"Whatever you're thinking, just stop. Pervert."

Billy shook his head in mock despair and reached for the first diazepam.

*

Elijah heard the scratching at his door long before he was fully awake. He drifted on the edge of consciousness, listening to the noise, feeling vaguely irritated but too snug in his semi-sleep to really react. 

After a minute or two he heard a high-pitched whine. It was loud enough to drag him completely from his comfortable state, and he couldn't help but spit out an angry curse in response. The whine stopped immediately. Elijah huffed out a sigh, turned over and closed his eyes. 

Seconds later, the long creak of another bedroom door, Dom's confused voice ringing loud and clear across the landing, and an insistent yapping had Elijah sitting bolt upright in bed. 

"Oh, _shit_."


	4. Dominic

"So, you see, we were just, like, dog-sitting."

Dom nodded, letting out a slow 'uh-huh' in answer to Elijah's explanation. 

"And how often should I expect to find a mangy little mutt doing a shit in my shoes?"

"Not that often," Elijah replied, scratching at the back of his neck. "Maybe once a month?"

"Christ!" This would not do at all. It wasn't that Dom was against the idea of a dog in the house, he just didn't want one with a tendency to crap all over the place. _Especially_ not in his most expensive footwear. 

The Prada loafers in question were only a few months old. After convincing Andrew to take them both on a long weekend to New York, Dom had done just as well at convincing him to buy an expensive gift at Saks Fifth Avenue. After all, what else were enormous bonuses for, if not splurging on your adorable, if scruffily-dressed, boyfriend? Dom had repaid him happily with a blowjob in the department store's public toilet. It seemed like a fair trade at the time. 

Staring at his ruined shoes, abandoned post-poo in the corner of the room, Dom wondered who he'd have to blow to get another pair. He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes, looking back at Elijah and sizing him up. 

Cute. Definitely shaggable. And - most crucially - almost certainly up for it. Dom wasn't as thick as he occasionally liked to make out, and he had more than noticed how very keen Elijah was to spend time trailing him about the house. 

If only he talked a little less...

"And it's not like he's that bad with the poop. He doesn't do it everywhere, it _is_ just kinda restricted to your room. But don't take it personally! God, no. He totally did it with the last people who lived here. He just likes this room, I guess. Anyway, there's something else I need to talk to you about, and-"

"Hey, Elijah?"

Elijah stopped mid-breath, a surprised expression on his face as if he only just remembered Dom was in the room at all. "Yeah?"

"Wanna come out with me tonight?" Dom crossed the room and opened his chest of drawers. He waited for Elijah to reply, thumbing through the folded clothes and eventually picking out a simple white vest that complimented his frame and allowed him to show off his tattoos.

He unfolded the top and looked up at Elijah, who was staring back with wide eyes, worrying his right thumbnail with savage little bites. 

"Well?"

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I, um..." Elijah looked up at the ceiling and, seemingly finding no inspiration, gave a little helpless shrug. "I just can't. Listen, I really need to talk to you about some-"

"Sure you can," Dom wheedled. "We'd have fun." He grinned and pulled off the top he was wearing, allowing his smile to widen as Elijah's gaze darted all over his torso before settling firmly on the carpet. 

"Money," Elijah mumbled eventually. "I don't have any."

"We don't need much," Dom replied. "I've got a bottle of vodka in the freezer, help yourself to that, and I can shout you a couple of quid for the night bus. Anyway," Dom grinned at Elijah and gave him a wink, "I scored a few Es yesterday, if you're up for it. Come on..."

"No," said Elijah, shaking his head firmly, "I can't."

"It's a decent batch, apparently. Really pure. But then, they always say that, don't they?"

"I don't know. Look, I can't either way. Billy's sick, and I've got to look after Orlando."

"What's up with Billy?"

Elijah shrugged. "Migraine. He gets them real bad every now and again."

Dom knew Elijah was lying, and it took all his good will to not push the issue. After all, he'd heard them that morning - the walls were paper thin. He'd heard Billy groaning and Elijah begging him to get up. He'd also heard Elijah put Billy to bed. 

And it certainly wasn't unusual to see Billy departing for bed with a bottle of scotch in one hand and a glass in the other. 

Dom hadn't figured Billy for an alcoholic straight away. He was tetchy and short, and really not the most open guy in the world, but Dom always put that down to the Glasgow Effect. Not that he knew many (any) Glaswegians, but, well, he reasoned they were hardly known for their bedside manner. Stereotypes had to originate somewhere, right? 

When he heard Elijah struggling with Billy that morning, all the clues fell into place. It was so obvious Billy had a drink problem that Dom almost felt stupid for not cottoning on earlier. 

And while he wanted to work out how best to use this house secret to his advantage, Dom had unexpectedly found himself wondering how it all affected Elijah. He'd sounded so distraught as he begged for cooperation from Billy; and with a raging hangover keeping the latter in bed, Elijah was forced - yet again - to take responsibility for Orlando. 

For a while Dom had wondered if Elijah was some sort of live-in carer. He imagined Billy and Orlando were once a couple, until _that fateful day_ when the lorry came out of nowhere and rammed Orlando's car from the road. Of course, Billy stuck by Orlando's side, despite the fact his boyfriend had become a vegetable. But there were bills to pay and Orlando couldn't be left alone – so he hired Elijah. 

Or maybe Orlando was Billy's younger brother. A Gilbert Grape set-up. Only, they didn't have any other family now, and Billy had to take on his sibling full-time. Maybe Elijah was some sort of schoolboy friend of Orlando's, explaining why he cared so dutifully for someone who wasn't his own family, if not the slight discrepancy when it came to accents.

Two days before, Dom finally decided to push the issue, flattering and flirting with Elijah until he buckled. 

"You can't tell Billy I told you, okay?" Elijah whispered.

Dom nodded solemnly and drew a cross over his chest, just like he always had in school. Elijah seemed to take this as a serious promise and tugged on Dom's sleeve to draw him into the kitchen, before shutting the door behind them. 

"Basically," Elijah leaned forward, Dom mirroring the movement automatically, "Orlando has this-"

A cupboard door flew open before slamming shut again, making them both jump. 

"What the fuck?!"

"Ignore it," Elijah said hastily. "It's nothing. Anyway, the thing with Orland-"

Across the kitchen the kettle clicked on. Dom looked over his shoulder at the noise, only to have Elijah tug on his clothes again to keep his attention.

"Did the kettle just-?"

"I didn't hear anything. So, like, he has this condition, and-"

The cupboard door flew open again, slamming shut over and over. Dom stared at it open-mouthed, his surprise only increasing when Elijah let out a furious, "Dammit, Sean! Quit it!"

The noise stopped immediately. Dom stared at the offending cupboard, completely agog for a few seconds, before eventually turning to Elijah and asking, "Um. What... Who's Sean?"

Elijah smiled brightly. "The landlord. I've been complaining about the draughts in this place for _months_ and he never sorts it out. Anyway, look, we should probably talk about this later. I have to go check on Orli now."

Dom remained in the kitchen for a while after, opening and shutting the cupboard curiously. It made no further movement of its own accord, but Dom continued to investigate with the utmost care, lest the phantom draught should suddenly strike and slam his fingers in the door.

He was only distracted by the bubbling of water and the click of the kettle as it automatically turned itself off. 

*

Dom was already at Waterloo station before he realised he was missing the ecstasy he had planned to share with Elijah. They were still on the floor of his room, tucked inside the pocket of the jeans he had been wearing when he scored. 

Swearing irritably under his breath, he considered turning around and going back; after all, it was only a few stops back down the Northern line. After a minute's deliberation on the ascending escalator, he decided to take a chance and see what he could pick up at the club.

His answer was, in fact, very little. He mumbled to a few people in the queue outside the Astoria and made the usual rounds indoors, but they either came up empty handed or completely ignored him. Dom wondered if class-A stimulation was suddenly out of fashion. Or if, woe betide, he was finally starting to get too old for the scene. 

In fairness, he was only months from his thirtieth birthday. The thought was endlessly depressing, but Dom had decided to approach it in a philosophical manner. He could still pass for someone in his mid-twenties, he could still wear eyeliner without looking like a desperate queen, and - based on how well he usually did in the pulling stakes - he still had what it took to avoid going home alone. 

The balconies were purposefully low lit. By one am the tables were sticky and the worn velvet seats likewise. Based on those facts, Dom didn't like to think what state the carpets were in. Then again, it didn't seem to be bothering the pretty student from St. Martin's crouched at his feet.

Simon had approached Dom on the first level of the balcony some fifteen minutes earlier, climbing the stairs with intent and instantly catching Dom's eye. Wasting little time, Simon had positioned himself nearby, brazenly sliding a hand down Dom's crotch and explaining exactly how much he'd like to paint him for life class. Dom loved compliments, even more so than money, and immediately offered his mouth as a reward for the praise he had been given. A few minutes later he allowed himself to be led to the third level of the balcony and gifted a lazy blowjob beneath the sticky table, while the rest of the club whooped and cheered at the arrival of that week's particular special guests on stage.

Simon emerged from his spot on the floor, wiping coyly at the corners of his mouth.

"I saw Christina here last year and she was _divine_ , but I don't really care about this lot."

Dom glanced down at the stage, glassy eyed. After a few moments he managed to identify the five women strutting across the stage in formation as Girls Aloud, and grinned. 

Two weeks before, he and Elijah had sat watching Jonathan Ross together, completely ignoring the interview and instead speculating on what each girl liked to do in bed. 

"Dogging," said Elijah with certainty. "That one likes dogging."

"What, Ashley Cole's bird? You reckon?"

"I don't have a clue who Ashley Cole is. The one with the power-pony. Definitely into dogging."

Dom laughed, pointing at the screen with his bottle of beer. "What about the sticky-legged blonde one?"

"Anal," Elijah replied without pause, his tone and expression deadly serious. 

"And the Irish one?"

Elijah sniffed. "Anal _fisting_."

"And what about the ginger one?"

"Oh, _her_ ," Elijah shook his head and bent closer to Dom as if to share a secret. "She's so obviously a part-time dominatrix. She's into leather and whips and that kind of thing."

Dom sniggered as he watched the girls move through their practiced routine on stage. Simon gave his side a little poke and smiled.

"What's so funny?"

"You see-" Dom laughed again, remembering the deadpan fashion in which Elijah had delivered his judgments. "You see the one on the far left? D'you reckon she's into anal fisting?"

Simon looked taken aback by the question. "Is that your thing? Because I'm not really a fan."

Dom laughed even harder. "No! No, I just wondered-"

"Look," Simon cut in, his smile returning, "do you want to come home with me? No fisting, but we can do anything else that takes your fancy..."

The offer was almost tempting. Almost, but not quite. Dom looked back at the stage and grinned. 

"Nah. You're alright."

*

"Hey! You're home early."

"Yeah, couldn't be arsed with it all in the end," Dom replied, flopping down on the sofa. Elijah looked surprised to see him. Pleasantly so, he noted. "Anyway, Girls Aloud were playing, and it wasn't the same without you there to pervert them beyond recognition. Whatcha watching?"

"Celebrity Big Brother," said Elijah, nodding at the silent screen. "They're just showing everyone asleep right now, it's totally lame. But a minute ago, Dirk Benedict was brushing his teeth. It's so weird to see The Faceman brush his teeth."

Dom grinned. "Dur duh dur!" he sang, a drunken rendition of the A-Team theme tune. 

"Duh duh durrr!" sang Elijah in return. They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, watching the housemates sleep in collective passivity. It was Elijah who broke the silence, announcing he had spent the evening getting educated via nature programmes. 

Dom raised his eyebrows. "I see. And what did you learn, pray tell?"

"Well," Elijah beamed with delight at having been asked, jumping up and rearranging himself sideways on the sofa with his legs crossed lotus-style, "did you know that seahorses are sluts?"

"I always thought they mated for life."

"Nuh-uh! That's not true!" Elijah crowed, eyes wide. "There's, like, this Australian seahorse, and it's totally slutty. And gay! Really, really gay! They said they mate twenty-five times a day, or something, and around a third of the time it's with other boy seahorses. Can you believe that?"

Dom smiled and shook his head obediently. "I can't."

"And. _And_ it was only the British seahorses that were even _remotely_ faithful."

"Well, that figures. It had to be our ones that were repressed and boring," said Dom.

With a snort of amusement, Elijah shrugged and returned Dom's smile. "Not boring. Maybe they're just sensible." He glanced back at the screen and stared at Jo O'Meara's open-mouthed snoring. 

"Maybe so," agreed Dom. 

The live streaming returned to a face-on shot of Dirk, toothbrush in one hand, half a cigar in the other. Froth from the toothpaste collected at the corners of his mouth, one side suddenly dribbling over in a fat rivulet. Dirk instantly raised his hand, swiping it away with skill and avoiding covering his cigar at the same time. On cue, Dom and Elijah launched back into the A-Team theme tune with gusto, dissolving into laughter as they reached the climax. 

"Hey, what did you want to tell me when I was getting ready to go out?" Dom asked.

Elijah smiled his way before turning his attention back to the television. "It'll keep."


	5. Orlando

Once upon on a time, I was the kind of guy whose face gave passers-by whiplash. 

I know you think I'm joking. If you looked the way I do nowadays I would think you were joking, too. And in a way I wish I was, because it would make all of this a lot easier if I was just a hopeless bullshitter.

I'm the invisible man. I'm the one whose opinion is never acknowledged. I'm the one they only talk to if they want to get something off their chests. 

I shouldn't be surprised, really; I mean, it's not like I can talk back. I try - I answer their questions in my head and fantasise that they can hear me telepathically. If they could, there'd be far fewer idiotic decisions made around here.

For instance, who actually thought Miriam would last longer than a couple of days? Even Elijah knew her tenancy was doomed, and he's willing to give any old loser a chance. Speaking of which, remind me later that we need to talk about Dom. 

Miriam was this mumsy type who worked at the local church. All about the coffee mornings and jumble sales, from what I could gather. Basically, a walking cliché: quiet, polite, wardrobe by M&S, the whole lot. She was perfectly nice on the one occasion she tried to talk to me (most people only try once; I try not to take it personally anymore), but she was just so obviously _wrong_ for this place.

As far as I know, Elijah never really told Billy about his misgivings; understandable, really, given that Billy's not always the most approachable person. I think Elijah's still a little intimidated by him, even though I know for a fact they think the world of one another. Not much I can do to help there anymore. They just have to find their own way. 

Where was I? Oh. Miriam. So, yeah, there's this Bible-bashing, BHS-devotee moving in, and I'm just sitting there wishing I could talk and have a little bet with Elijah about how long she would last. 

I'm not entirely sure she even made it through the second night. You'd have thought that Sean would go easy on her, what with her being the nice mumsy type, but if anything he was worse. Flinging things about, rattling the door, moving the bed while she was in it... I could hear him from my room. I don't have a problem with the guy usually, but it was a little harsh.

I hear he's started playing games with Dom, too. Elijah and Bill really should be honest with him about Sean, at the very least. Of all the things that could put someone off living here, a spirit with an eye for domestic-appliance-based mishap is the least of their worries. Sean may have a habit of inconveniently-timed attention seeking, but for the most part he just wants everyone to unplug things that aren't being used and to stop leaving the kitchen window open at night. It's like having Casper the Safety-Conscious Ghost around. 

I kind of wish Sean would take as much of a dislike to Dom as he did Miriam, though. I don't trust that guy, and I don't think he's good for Elijah. I know Billy would tell me I'm worrying about nothing, but Billy's a fucking idiot about these things, and I know Elijah better than anyone.

Let's look at the facts: Elijah's young, good looking, constantly horny (the walls are thin, I'm a light sleeper, we'll leave it at that), and stuck in a haunted house twenty-four hours a day. Before Dom moved in, the only people Elijah had to talk to most of the time were a paranoid ghost and a vegetable, and neither of us could actually talk back. Even if he dared go outside, he's not allowed to leave the country or have his family visit. His only friends are giant fuck-ups, and the last time he got laid he ended up in hospital. 

And, God, he's just so fucking fragile. I could be worrying about nothing, but he's been out of that hospital for months and months now and he _still_ acts like he lives there. I was hoping one of us would convince him to pay the world outside a visit, but with me in this state and Billy working all the time I don't think that's ever going to happen.

In that way, Dom could be good to have around, but only if he knows the facts. And call me pessimistic, but lying to the lodger has always been the only house rule. 

Don't get me wrong, I still think taking Elijah out of The Grange was the best idea. I don't regret it one bit. But at the same time I hate trusting his care to this random layabout when Billy's out at work. Elijah said Dom offered him drugs the other day, for fuck's sake. Half the time I'm still worried he might relapse when he's sober; I can't imagine what he might do on pills. 

Okay, look, I shouldn't be admitting this, and I know it's unprofessional, but I'm seriously worried. I may not think much of Dom so far, but it doesn't mean I want him to get hurt. Elijah's fine now, I really believe that, but he's never been tested. He's never tested _himself_. He hasn't left this place since we moved in, and he's never tried to reintegrate with the public at large. It's a lot to ask of him, considering how sick he got before he went to The Grange, but it's totally possible - just look at Billy. But Elijah doesn't trust himself with the big wide world. And you know what? After all this time, I'm not sure I trust Elijah either. I want to. I've always had faith in him. But still... I'm worried.

Because even I can see that Dom's virtually irresistible to Elijah. He's like human catnip. You'd have to be an idiot to live here and not see the way Elijah's getting totally obsessed with the guy. He watches Dom constantly, hangs on his every word; and the worst thing is, Dom blatantly knows it. He _loves_ it. I used to know someone like him at school: not much to look at, but he knew how to get the girls using just his personality, the cunning bastard.

I never needed one of those, myself. A personality, I mean. I _had_ one, but I never really needed it to pull. I smiled, the female population smiled with me. Good fucking times, I can tell you.

Maybe I'm just unimpressed with Dom's charm offensive because I'm jealous. Elijah will probably get shagged soon enough, whereas I haven't had a woman look twice at me for six bloody months. What I wouldn't give for a blowjob right now. Sometimes I'm so fucking desperate I think I'd let Dom suck me off if he offered. Not that I'd be able to say no either way.

My girlfriend walked out on me the day after I told her I was ill, you know. I never expected that. Finding out you're that one in four million is pretty hard; being abandoned because of it is even worse. 

I lost everything that day. Not just Sarah - my whole family disowned me. I was only legally allowed to tell my partner and immediate family, and they lost it worse than Sarah did. Even if I had been allowed to tell my friends, I knew they wouldn't have reacted any better. 

I was pretty lucky to have Billy as my patient when it all happened. Someone to turn to who wouldn't be freaked out by my condition, and someone I trusted implicitly. Billy was more than just a case; he was my friend, too. I don't know where I'd be without him. In a hospice, probably, staring at a television with the other unlucky fuckers who ended up being one in four million, too. 

Instead, I'm living in a haunted house of freaks, watching a sexually-frustrated, agoraphobic Yank dribble all over the only gay man to have come within a mile radius of his dick in two years. My life is officially a cheap sitcom. 

Oh God, I really hope those two don't start feeling each other up in front of me. I may not be able to move, but all my senses are working full throttle. I don't think I'll be able to cope with listening to them bum each other, let alone _see_ anything. Maybe I'll get my voice back in a situation of extreme trauma. You hear about that sort of thing, don't you? Man sees for first time in sixty years after wife explodes, stuff like that. 

I can see it now, on the front page of The Sun: UNDEAD GAY ROMP CURES ZOMBIE! 

Yeah, I'm definitely living in a sitcom. It's badly scheduled, has fuck all in the way of viewers, but for some reason it keeps getting recommissioned for another series of hilarious misery. 

Hi. My name's Orlando Bloom. Could someone change the channel, please?


	6. Elijah

Passport.  
Visa.  
Job. Flat. Independence.  
Friends and family and any chance at a meaningful relationship.  
His health. His happiness.  
His confidence, sanity and freedom. 

Still, at least they let him keep his name.

*

"You know what?" Dom slurred. "Your name... it's like, so nice to say. Don't you think?" He swigged from his beer bottle before waving it around for emphasis. "Eeeee-li-jaah. Mm. See?" A little nod, a little smile. "It's perfect."

Elijah stared at Dom's mouth as it formed the syllables of his name. He was a captive, completely held in thrall at how his relatively simple name looked spilling from Dom's lips.

"Eeeee--"

Teeth bared, lips stretching outwards.

"Li--"

Tongue pushing from behind the front teeth, then curling back inside before Elijah really had a chance to fully appreciate it.

"Jaah."

Lips pursing outwards on a hard j, before curving into a satisfied smile.

"Yeah." Dom nodded to himself again. "It's a good fucking name to say." He met Elijah's eyes and grinned, waggling his beer bottle. "You want another?"

Elijah exhaled loudly, realising he had been holding his breath the entire time. "Yeah, God, say it again. Your accent..."

Dom snorted. "I meant another beer, you tit. I'm getting one."

"Oh. Oh, yeah. Please. Another. But-" Elijah cut off as Dom climbed to his feet, waiting until they had eye contact again before making his request. "When you come back, say it again for me?"

"You're a right weirdo, you know that?" Dom laughed as he walked towards the kitchen.

"Yeah," Elijah replied quietly, watching him leave. "I know."

*

"Elijah, I know this is a lot to take in, but you're going to have to listen to me very carefully."

They had found Elijah a little way from Saul's apartment, apparently passed out behind a supermarket, slumped against the dumpsters. Store staff had been kind enough to call an ambulance, despite suspecting him to be a drunk or a drug-addict. They hadn't noticed his wound at the time, what with it being dark and their reluctance to touch him. Orlando said it was lucky he hadn't bled to death in the time it took paramedics to arrive.

Elijah couldn't remember much of what happened that day; but over time, the broken shards of his memory slotted back into place. More often than not he wished they wouldn't. He didn't want to recall waking up in Saul's bed, heart and head pounding, cold and utterly confused. He never liked to remember how it felt to use every last ounce of strength to sit up, to wince at the tearing feeling in his neck and to instinctively reach to touch the source of his discomfort, only to find his fingers covered in blood. 

No. Memories like that were better repressed. Elijah always hoped one day his trauma would be complete enough for his brain to offer that one small favour. 

Orlando tried his best to explain Elijah's condition, a little known idiopathic STI that the government were frantically trying to keep under wraps. Orlando had laughed in a self-deprecating way on behalf of his country: apparently, the last thing they needed after all the Mad Cow disease and Foot-and-Mouth was for this to be made public. After all, this time round they couldn't take all the infected out to a field in Hampshire and burn the corpses, could they?

Elijah hadn't laughed. Orlando had stopped the second he realised how inappropriate his words were.

Even with the sparse information available, Elijah found it all too much to take in. He lay back against the stiff hospital linen and stared up at the ceiling. Orlando continued to talk, but Elijah could barely focus on the facts until his family were mentioned. 

"This is the bit I hate the most, Elijah, but you need to understand something," Orlando said. "Your condition is considered dangerous enough for the government to take serious steps in relation to your citizenship here."

Elijah sat bolt upright in horror. "Am I getting deported? I have a job-"

Orlando held up his hand to silence Elijah, shaking his head a little. "You're not getting deported. You're becoming a permanent resident."

Elijah frowned. "Permanent?"

"That's right."

"They're giving me a British passport?"

"Well..."

"But I can still go home, right?"

"Elijah, your passport is being detained, and your status is being classified. You've been here a couple of days now, and it means the authorities will already have informed your family that you are deceased."

Elijah felt the floor falling out of his world.

"As far as anyone but a select few in the British government and NHS are concerned, you no longer exist."

*

"Dom?"

"Mmm-hmm?"

"Do you see your family much?"

"Nah. We don't get on, and they buggered off to the Costa del Sol years back. What about you?"

Elijah shook his head. "No. Never."

"How come?" asked Dom. "Or is it a touchy subject?"

"It's complicated. I don't really know how to explain it," replied Elijah, suddenly wondering why he brought up the topic in the first place. 

Dom smiled. "Then don't try. We don't have to talk about it." He resettled so he was facing Elijah and raised his eyebrows. "Hey, you'll never guess what I read in the paper today. You'll love this."

"Go on..."

"Well, apparently, there's this Catholic writer who's pretty popular with the Vatican, and he's decided that Oscar Wilde is a perfect example for today's 'non-conformist Catholic'." Dom made quotation marks in the air as he spoke, rolling his eyes. 

"You're kidding me?" Elijah laughed. "But wasn't he-"

"Bent as a nine bob note?" Dom finished. "Oh yeah. That's what makes it so funny. They're pissed off at Tony Blair for caving in and making them give shirt-lifters all the babies they want, but Oscar Wilde is a moral bloody guardian."

Elijah drank a couple of mouthfuls of beer, pondering the information. "When I was a kid, I wasn't allowed to read Oscar Wilde."

"Are you kidding me?" 

"Nuh-uh. My parents were super-strict when it came to religion, and they didn't approve of us reading the works of famous sodomites."

"It's a good job they did. I've heard that gayness is awfully catching."

"I've made up for it since," said Elijah, nodding thoughtfully.

"Yeah?"

Elijah gave an impish grin. "Oh yeah. I can resist anything except temptation."

*

Not existing felt very similar to _actually_ existing, as far as Elijah was concerned. 

He still breathed in and out without having to think about it; he still blinked and yawned and coughed and farted, just like always. He walked around his tiny hospital room, always aware of the fact his only way out was guarded by a police officer - a fucking cop, Elijah never got over that one – listening to his bare feet on the linoleum tiles. Clearly, his feet still existed. His toes existed as they spread against the floor. He requested the heating be turned down, just so he could lie still and wait for the cold to get to him, to see the hairs on his arm rise, goose bumps reminding him just how much his skin still existed. 

Evidently, the world outside existed just as it always had, not stopping to acknowledge the government-ordered demise of one person. In the morning, Elijah would wake to see condensation on the windowpane, and he would spend the first hour of each day proving his existence by drawing in the dew. His sketches were usually abstract doodles, swirls and shapes; occasionally, he decorated the entire space with stars, arranging each one to fit perfectly with those around it. At least once a week he would avoid drawing all together and just tap his fingertips to the window, one by one by one. He loved the moisture left on his skin, and would touch his fingers to his nose, cheeks and lips and then back to the window, over and over until the entire glass was covered in the evidence of his existence.

Some mornings his projects would fail to turn out the way Elijah intended, and he would swipe at the windowpane in frustration, wiping away his mistakes. Those mornings were always the worse; Elijah knew he only had one chance a day to remind the glass he existed, and that it only recognised his drawings. Eventually, summer came around, and there was no more condensation. Elijah was afraid for a long time that it was a punishment for a spate of rash destruction earlier that year. He never spoke to Orlando about it, just in case it was true. 

One night, Elijah bit on his nails until he gnawed right into the skin. Tasting the pathetic oozes of blood with the tip of his tongue, he realised how much doing so made him feel, made him hard. Elijah licked away his own blood while masturbating furtively beneath NHS-issue sheets, feeling guilty and desperate and not really understanding why he felt so aroused. 

By the fifth night, Elijah had stopped feeling guilty. Instead, he concentrated on wiping his come down the floral print gown he was given to wear, marvelling at how his DNA still existed. He tried to make sense of the idea that, while the person he thought he was no longer existed, tiny little versions of his genetic code still spilled out of him on cue. He tried to remember to ask Orlando to explain, but his memory always failed him.

When the days and weeks started to blur together, Elijah amused himself by staring at the cop on guard for hours at a time, pressed up against the door, peering through the tiny windowpane. His breath clouded on the glass, reminding him his lungs still existed. He stared at the men sent to guard him, watched them come and go and switch and cover. He stared at their necks and imagined how it would feel to bite down hard enough to get inside, to see if their existence tasted different to his own. 

One week Orlando never came to visit. Elijah asked after him, begging pitifully for information whenever a nurse visited to deliver his food or his sedatives. They all said the same thing, that Orlando had gone away for a while. A holiday. A vacation. A break. Elijah mulled the information over in his head, accepting it for a while. When Orlando failed to show up the next day, Elijah convinced himself there was a very real possibility that he had ceased to exist for Orlando. 

Two weeks later, Orlando stopped by as if nothing had happened. Elijah cried. When the truth of his upset was finally wrested from him, Orlando made notes on his pad and explained to Elijah that he most certainly existed. The next time he visited he pulled a Polaroid camera from his bag, perched on the edge of the bed and leaned close into Elijah's side, instructing him to smile. 

Elijah stared at the photograph for a long time, his face now unfamiliar, eyes sunken and skin pale. After Orlando's visit had ended, Elijah cried until his photograph was entirely ruined with falling tears, the new evidence of his existence warped and discoloured beyond all recognition. 

*

As the night wore on, the documentaries, soaps and films had become phone-in quiz shows hosted by disconcertingly giddy presenters. They insulted Elijah's intelligence. He wanted to call in and get himself on the air, just so he could inform the world that his being awake at three am didn't mean he had no life.

He told Dom this, and Dom just chuckled in response, tipping his head a little to encourage Elijah's fingers to scratch elsewhere. 

Warmed right through with a heavy beer-blanket, Elijah was sprawled the full length of the sofa, Dom opting for the carpet in front of him. Dom had rested back against the cushions, and Elijah had not been able to resist reaching out to play with his hair, thin and wispy, tickling his fingers. After a little while he had moved on to the scalp, moving his fingers over Dom's skin, scratching the best he could with his bitten-down nails. As for Dom, he didn't seem to mind the contact. He just kept on drinking and mumbling increasingly incoherent guesses to the quiz questions.

Elijah smiled and began to trace long lines down the side of Dom's neck, stroking from the back of his prominent ear to the line of his jaw, before following a path down his jugular. He could feel Dom's steady pulse beneath his fingers, along with the predictable hardening of his own cock. He wet his lips and pressed a little harder.

Dom glanced back and smiled, lopsided and content.

"I'm shitfaced."

"Mmm," Elijah replied, "me, too." 

He trailed his index finger down the front of Dom's throat, running it up and down over his Adam's apple until Dom turned fully around. He knelt beside the couch, staring down at Elijah so intently that Elijah threw his arm across his eyes, self-conscious, fingers curled upwards.

"How drunk?" asked Dom.

Elijah grinned lazily. "Very, very."

"Very, very?" Dom whispered, his breath suddenly falling heavy on Elijah's parted lips. 

"Very." Elijah murmured in return, tipping his chin, inviting the contact.

He sighed when Dom's mouth pressed down on his own. The kiss was awkward, hampered by their strange angles; Dom's lips touched gently at the corners of Elijah's mouth and Elijah responded in kind. As he pulled away, Dom curled the fingers of his right hand inside Elijah's own and pulled it away from his eyes. His left strayed to Elijah's navel, stroking gently at the gap between his t-shirt and jeans. 

"I'm going to bed."

Elijah stared back up at him, holding his gaze.

"Take me with you."

*

Elijah's nightly explorations of his newfound sexual desire had become a daily ritual. Rather than feel saddened by the disappearance of daylight, he positively looked forward to lights out and the guaranteed privacy from doctors and tests and injections. He would pass the last few hours of his day in the chair by the window, knees drawn up to his chest, tongue smoothing along his elegantly-pointed canines, sharp in anticipation. 

The temptation to bite his own wrist was almost always overwhelming; however, Elijah was nothing if not attuned to the need for secrecy. The nurses checked daily for such wounds, letting his bitten-down nails pass as a pre-existing nervous habit, never realising what fun he was having right under their noses.

It was never enough.

When Orlando came to visit, Elijah would find himself desperate to try his luck. Orlando trusted him; he let Elijah close. It would be so easy to do it, and to prove to everyone in the hospital how very much he existed, whatever they said. He would show them by taking Orlando, biting down on him to cause noise and pain and fear, and in the process he would finally silence the little voice inside that told him he needed it. Needed _someone_. 

Of course, Orlando was a professional, and he had clearly spotted the signs of an imminent attack long before it happened. He wore a hidden panic button; Elijah never even saw him click it. In fact, Elijah wasn't aware there was a problem at all until three nurses were holding him down and another injected a sedative into his arm. 

Orlando stayed with Elijah while he dozed on the edge of unconsciousness. His voice was soothing, and he pet Elijah's hair as he explained what would happen next.

"I hoped you might not need this, but I'm going to have you sent away for a little while, just to treat you a little more intensively than here. You're not ready to be let out. You probably weren't even aware how quickly you changed just now; but it's okay, it's all new. 

"It's a nice place; you'll like it. There are others there like you. You can talk to people, and they won't keep you locked up all day, so you won't feel so alone. Don't think of it as another hospital... it's like rehab. You can pretend to be a rock star."

Elijah, his strength waning, had laughed at that. His amusement sounded like a wheeze, but he saw Orlando smile in return.

*

They stumbled upstairs, Dom's wet, messy kisses missing Elijah's mouth more often than not. In frustration, Elijah grabbed Dom's face with both hands, trying to hold him in place long enough to get his tongue in. It felt like forever before he finally got it right, giggling into Dom's mouth at the noises Dom made when he kissed, moaning when Dom's hands grasped hard at his ass and squeezed. 

As they rounded the corner of the stairway, Elijah pulled back and shushed Dom. "We need to be quiet, okay?"

He sighed as Dom nosed against his cheek and down under his chin in response, kissing and biting and growling noisily as he went.

"Please, we can't wake up Orlando," Elijah whined. "Just wait till we're in the bedroom..."

Dom raised his eyebrows, grinning wolfishly. "I don't want to be quiet," he stated, full volume. "I want to bring the fucking house down."

"Yeah, b-" Elijah whispered, but Dom cut him off with another kiss, his frantic groping enough to make Elijah almost lose his footing on the last few stairs. The thuds and creaks were enough to wake the dead, let alone the undead, each inappropriate noise tripping his heart, already in high gear from the thrill of physical contact alone.

Dom broke the kiss long enough to concentrate on Elijah's fly, unceremoniously thumbing open the button and tugging down the zipper. When Dom offered his mouth again, Elijah concentrated on kissing back, trying not to think about where Dom's long fingers were heading for fear of coming on contact. He needn't have worried; once Dom had loosened Elijah's jeans, he slipped both hands around the back, worming inside Elijah's underwear to grasp warm and firm at his ass.

Dom's fingers dug into Elijah's flesh, and before he could stop himself, Elijah let out a high-pitched squeak. Humiliation curled sickly in his stomach as Dom huffed out a laugh against his mouth. "Cute. I never had you down as a squeaker..."

Dom's tongue was in Elijah's mouth again before he had a chance to reply.

With the landing providing a mercifully flat and steady surface, Elijah was more than willing to let Dom push him up against the wall, not even thinking to protest when his wrists were caught and pinned above his head.

Dom leaned into him, moving just enough to make Elijah's head tip to the side and his eyes slide shut, nuzzling just so against his neck until Elijah gave in and moaned helplessly for the first time, heedless of Orlando just two doors down. He felt Dom's laughter against his skin, followed by the long wet swipe of his tongue, and then the unmistakable pressure of teeth.

Elijah tensed as Dom bit down, not nearly hard enough to break the skin, but enough to bring a particular face rushing to the forefront of his mind. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried desperately to concentrate on Dom, on his mouth and teeth and tongue, wanting what was happening more than anything, not wanting to stop, not even if-

_I want to keep you._

Panic and adrenaline clouded Elijah's better judgment, and he let out a strangled cry, twisting beneath Dom and tearing his wrists free. Shoving Dom hard in the chest, he stumbled out into the middle of the landing, breathing hard, eyes wide.

Dom gaped back at him, mouth hanging open and hands held palm outwards in defense. Elijah's heartbeat began to slow, no longer stuttering in his chest. He exhaled and raised his hands to his hair, clutching thick tufts in his fists.

"Oh fuck."

"What-" Dom's fingers spread wide, his hands still held up as if he were trying to calm an animal. "Okay, right, what the _fuck_ , Elijah?"

"I'm sorry! Shit, I didn't mean to-"

"What the fuck was that? What did I do?"

Elijah moved his hands to his face and exhaled long and hard, one last time. "I'm sorry. It's been a while. I shouldn't have freaked out. Can we-?"

"I think maybe," Dom began to back away slowly, towards his own room. "maybe no. Another time, yeah?"

"No!" Elijah crowded in on Dom in desperation, grabbing his wrist. "Not another time, _now_." With a jerky movement he forced Dom's hand down to his crotch, underwear half on display where his fly gaped open. "Please." His erection had flagged in the panic, but he just pushed Dom's hand harder against himself. "Please?"

Dom looked curious and suspicious and still a little pissed, but Elijah didn't let that deter him. Holding Dom's hand in place, he rubbed against it until he was hard again. That brought a smile to Dom's face - finally - and he curled his fingers around Elijah's cock, filthy grin widening.

"Your place or mine?"

"Yours," Elijah replied. "Billy won't be home for hours. And we really shouldn't wake Orlando."

With a nod, Dom leant forward and pressed a swift kiss to his mouth. "Come on, then."

Elijah watched Dom saunter to his own room, pulling his t-shirt over his head as he went. He smirked back at Elijah, teeth shining dully in the half-light from the hallway. 

"Well?"

Elijah took a wavering step forward, then another, and another, his confidence swelling. When they met, Elijah placed his palms firmly against Dom's chest and backed him up against the wardrobe. Dom laughed in surprise, his amusement quickly muffled by Elijah's mouth. Elijah barely even noticed the dull thud as Dom's head slammed back into the wooden door, likewise his moan of protest.

What he couldn't ignore, though, was the slamming of the bedroom door, especially when it hit the frame so hard it bounced right back open again. Both of them jumped, but while Dom's mouth hung open in surprise and confusion, Elijah merely scowled. 

"Stop it."

The bedroom light began to hum, brightening the room in waves before dying again.

"Sean. Stop it. _Now_."

The door slammed once, twice, a third time; Dom's fingers dug into Elijah's arms as the bed beside him began to tremble, rattling against the threadbare carpet.

"Elijah, fucking hell!"

"Sean!" Elijah finally snapped. "Just fuck off! Fucking _stop it_!"

The noise stopped. The room fell back to its previous gloom. Elijah turned back to Dom and smiled winningly, hoping against hope that Dom wouldn't-

"What was that? What the bloody fucking Christ was that?!"

-ask.

"It was nothing." Elijah pressed back against Dom. "Where were we?"

"Oh no," said Dom, shaking his head. "No way. Explain. Was it a draught, Elijah? Was it a fucking _draught_? Or is this place _actually_ haunted?"

Elijah tightened his grip. He'd waited too long for this to have it ruined by his unelected moral guardian. 

"Not now, Dom. I'll explain later, I promise," Elijah said, and kissed him again, feeling Dom yield after a few long seconds. As Dom's death grip slowly loosened, Elijah grabbed his wrists, pinning his arms by his sides.

"My turn, Dominic." Elijah grinned, wetting his lips. 

He moved his mouth across Dom's face, dragging teeth lightly along his jawbone before trailing hot, breathy kisses down his throat. Pressing his face into the crook of Dom's neck, Elijah inhaled long and hard through his nose, filling his lungs as slowly as possible.

"You smell so fucking good, do you know that?"

Dom let out a funny little laugh, his breath stuttering and voice catching. "I'll take your word for it."

Elijah realised he was grinding against Dom's thigh. He could feel Dom's pulse beneath his bottom lip; it thudded against his skin, begging to be tasted.

"I wanna-"

"What?"

"Oh fuck," Elijah whined open-mouthed against Dom's neck, breathing hard, flicking the tip of his tongue against the spot where the tempting vein pulsed. "You smell- I want-"

"What?" Dom grated out again, barely keeping up with Elijah's erratic rhythm. Elijah didn't care what Dom did, as long as he didn't move.

"Oh _fuck_..."

Elijah opened his mouth wider and, with a strangled moan, sank his teeth hard into Dom's flesh. 

*

"You'll understand when you're fully with it," Saul whispered, stroking soft circles over Elijah's navel. "The first time is so good, you'll be addicted before you know it."

Elijah stared up at the ceiling, his eyes drifting in and out of focus. His head hurt. He tried to remember if an orgasm had ever given him a headache before, let alone such an intense migraine, but it only made his head hurt even more. 

As he slowly lost consciousness, Saul murmured close to his ear.

"Trust me, Elijah, it'll be worth it."

*

Elijah shuddered, his legs feeling like jelly. He sucked instinctively, releasing one of Dom's arms so he could press the heel of his hand under Dom's chin, pushing it up and away to expose as much of his throat as possible. 

Dom tasted better than Elijah had ever imagined. It made his head spin, his ears roar. When he gasped for breath a trickle of Dom's blood spilled over Elijah's bottom lip and down his chin. He swiped with his tongue, desperately hungry and determined not to waste a drop.

"Elijah, stop..."

The voice was a mere annoyance, a television playing in another room, maybe. 

"Elijah?"

It wasn't anything to do with him, not even if it _was_ his name he was hearing. And that whimper, the shallow gasps against his palm, they were nothing for Elijah to worry about either. The hand that grabbed at his bicep he could ignore, even if the nails in his flesh were starting to hurt. He could ignore anything for this. 

It wasn't until Dom began to sag heavily against him that Elijah realised just what was happening. His eyes flew wide open, his hand to his mouth as he stumbled backwards. Dom gazed back at him, his eyelids heavy, and raised his hand to press at his neck. He frowned, swallowed hard, and pulled his hand back to stare at the bloodied palm. 

And then Dom's knees gave way and he sank to the floor.

Elijah was halfway down the hall before Dom even hit the ground, the vomit rising in his throat so violently he threw up into the bathtub before staggering to the toilet and collapsing in front of it for a second and third round. 

When he was sure he was done, Elijah pulled the toilet seat down, grabbed hold of the handle and yanked it. He rested his head against his forearms, propped on top of the lid, and began to weep. 

At times like these, Elijah was always glad to have Sean around. He didn't cry half as much as he used to, but when he did give in to tears Sean was always there to do what he could to help: to lay what Elijah always imagined to be a comforting hand on his back, or to gently close the door to allow him some privacy. 

Now he called quietly to his friend, waiting to be looked after, desperate for a silent acknowledgment that he hadn't really done wrong, not really, and that he _had_ stopped as soon as he'd realised. Dom was probably fine. Probably not infected. Probably not bleeding to death while Elijah indulged in his own self-pity.

Sean never came. And after Elijah had cried himself to exhaustion and rinsed his bloodstained vomit from the bath, he crept quietly up the hall towards Dom's room, ready to plead for forgiveness. 

Dom's door was shut. When Elijah tried to enter, he found himself locked out. 

*

Dom stared at himself in the mirror, turning his face and tilting his chin upwards. His eyes narrowed as he assessed the bruise on his neck. There was no longer an unsightly red welt, and the swelling had gone down, but the black and purple smear left behind certainly wasn't any prettier. 

Dom hadn't been given a lovebite since he was at school. They were once a badge of honour, a symbol of teenage virility; after the age of sixteen they just looked tacky. 

This one didn't look tacky, though. It looked _violent_. 

Dom touched his damaged skin carefully, wincing as his fingertips brushed over two puncture wounds. 

No. This definitely never happened at school.


	7. Billy - Elijah - Dominic

It really was the last thing Billy wanted to deal with after another interminable night shift. 

Elijah had covered his tracks well, and Dom even better. They were friends. Nothing untoward was going to happen. Elijah was just too sweet-tempered to interest someone like Dom; and even if he did, Elijah was fine. Recovered. A master of self-control.

Dom was waiting for a reply to his chirpy good morning. Billy could only stare at the bruising on the left side of his neck and wonder at his own unprecedented, and frankly embarrassing, optimism. 

*

It must have been cold out there, even with a coat on. A coat didn't do much to protect bare legs, Elijah thought, noting with some surprise that Dom hadn't bothered to pull on his jeans - or even any shoes - before he went outside.

As it was, Dom stood barefoot in the grass, staring down the long and narrow backyard as he smoked his self-rolled cigarette. Elijah wondered if he was getting stoned, and if that was why he didn't care about the cold. 

When he saw Dom flick the cigarette butt away, Elijah slid from the windowsill, down to the carpet. He hid well out of sight, chewing on a fingernail and counting in his head. At thirty, he climbed to his feet and returned to the window, pulling his knees up and hugging them as he stared at the spot Dom had left empty. 

The condensation was starting to melt away already. Elijah ran his finger down the edge of the glass, gently grating it against the aged wooden frame. A piece of paint flaked away as he brushed past, dropping into a pool of water on the sill. Elijah fished it out with a grimace before continuing to trace his line downwards. Eventually, the water gathering at his fingertip made a break for freedom, a fat rivulet sliding towards the sill and joining the puddle. 

Elijah watched its progress before turning his attention back to the rest of the glass. It had been a long time, but swirls were definitely the way to go, especially on a day like this. There was something calming about swirls. 

When he heard the front door slam shut and Billy call out his hello to the house, Elijah unfolded his limbs, climbed down from the sill and crept over to the bedroom door. He turned the key slowly in the lock, trying to be as quiet as possible, before crossing to his desk and picking up his Polaroid camera. 

He realised with some concern that he still hadn't mentioned to Billy that he was nearly out of film. Every day he meant to ask for more; every day it somehow slipped his mind. Orlando had bought plenty; tons, actually, and way more than Elijah needed at the time, but now even Orlando's generosity finally showed signs of running out.

Elijah held the camera out in front of him, stared straight into the lens and held down the shutter button. Leaving the picture on the desk to develop, he selected a Sharpie from a mug full of pens and wrote the date at the bottom in full: Jan 19 2007. 

He didn't look so bad today; not as bad as he'd suspected, anyway. Elijah stared at his self-portrait and noted the pimple coming up on his forehead, the fact his hair badly needed cutting, and the fact he looked a little tired, but all in all he'd had worse days.

Once he was sure the picture had fully dried, Elijah turned it over and uncapped his marker. With solid strokes he penned _FUCK UP_ across the back, capital letters from corner to corner, fanning it from side to side when he was done to ensure the ink wouldn't smudge. 

His current envelope was getting full. Elijah knew it was yet another thing he'd have to beg Billy to buy for him. Dom had said he didn't mind shopping for Elijah, but Elijah hardly had a choice anymore - it was Billy or nothing. And Elijah wasn't prepared for nothing quite yet. 

Still, it was worth it asking; a new envelope was always satisfying. Elijah enjoyed printing his home address neatly across the front, marking it for the attention of his mother, his father, for his brother and sister. He liked instructing the postman to _handle with care_ and informing him the contents were _private and confidential_. 

Sometimes he fantasised about actually posting his photographs. He imagined their arrival at his old home, his mother's surprise at receiving not just one, but many large packages from England. Elijah hoped she might cry with relief when she realised her supposedly deceased son was alive this entire time. 

Billy's knock at the door was not unexpected, but it still made Elijah jump. Nudged from his thoughts, he placed the envelope back in its drawer with reverential care and returned to the window sill.

*

"Elijah, let me in." Billy twisted the handle. "We need to talk." He rested his forehead against the door and sighed heavily, wishing Orlando was still in any state to give advice, even if it was only how to talk Elijah into unlocking the door. 

The realisation of what Elijah had done the night before had hit Billy like a ten-tonne truck. He'd barely even managed two words to Dom in the kitchen, just stared at his neck like a gormless bastard. Now, as he knocked again and pleaded with Elijah to let him in, he told himself it really wasn't his fault. He'd trusted Elijah to behave. Beyond that, he'd trusted Orlando's assurances two years before.

"He's fine, he's not dangerous anymore. He's been in there too long. I just need to get him out."

Orlando hadn't bullshitted that detail. When Billy paid his first visit, Elijah was painfully thin, shockingly pale and could barely even form a sentence without looking to Orlando for support and reassurance. Eighteen months in care had well and truly broken Elijah's spirit. Orlando called him _institutionalised_ ; all Billy saw was the stuttering kid from One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. 

"He won't be any trouble to you. I can vouch for that," Orlando said. "He's quiet, but he's polite and tidy. He'll just keep himself to himself."

"I don't know," Billy replied. "I don't _want_ a flatmate. I like living alone, you know that. And what if someone rings the doorbell and he tries to eat them?"

Orlando laughed. "He won't, Bill. He's totally safe now - I have the psychiatric reports to prove it. Anyway, he's not big on the outside world. He's been cooped up for so long that he's terrified of going out in case he relapses. It's what's keeping him in care now, not his disease, and I want him out of there. He needs to face the real world again."

"But I don't want to have to look after someone. How _can_ I when-"

"You'll get his benefits."

Orlando nodded as he watched Billy consider this bit of information. 

"Yeah, thought that might spark your interest."

"How much does he get?" asked Billy, narrowing his eyes.

"Well, the government put three hundred a month in trust for him, should he ever be released from full-time care, but he won't be allowed to touch that for now, what with you taking on responsibility for the time being." Orlando held up an index finger to indicate more information. " _But_. As his full-time carer I can arrange for you to receive a bursary to use towards rent, food, clothes - that kind of thing. It's the best part of five hundred quid a month."

Billy exhaled noisily. "Well, that _does_ put a rather different spin on things, doesn't it?"

"I thought you'd say that," replied Orlando. "The only catch is that you _do_ have to assume responsibility."

"What does that mean?"

"Basically, you'll be responsible for Elijah's behaviour, keeping him out of mischief."

"Wait, wait, wait!" Billy held his hands up and waved them around. "So, say he _does_ bite the postman, it'll be my fault?"

Orlando bared his teeth and made a scrunched-up face. "Sort of."

"No way. No deal. I won't be held responsible because some American nutcase wants to suck on people."

"But he won't-"

"But he _might_."

"He's better." Orlando's faced crumpled into a pleading expression. "He really is. And he's dying in there, Billy. His family think he's dead already, and he has no-one over here. I'm the only one he responds to, and I won't be here forever."

Billy frowned. "Where are you going?"

"Nowhere," Orlando said, waving away the question. "Figure of speech. Look, I promise I'll visit him every day, and if I think he's slipping I'll take him back into care. I just can't leave him there any longer unless I have to. He's only twenty-five, Bill. He deserves another chance at things."

A silence fell, and Billy mulled over Orlando's words. Taking responsibility for a waif and stray was one thing. Taking responsibility for a traumatised, mentally damaged stray with a penchant for blood-sucking was another altogether. He believed Orlando when he said Elijah was fully rehabilitated - they had known each other long enough for Billy to trust him implicitly in these matters - but at the same time, well, as sad as his case was, Elijah wasn't _actually_ Billy's responsibility, was he?

He looked up at Orlando. "Why me, eh? Why should I do this, apart from as a favour to you?"

"Because you know how it feels to have no-one," Orlando replied. "You know how it is to be diagnosed with something like this and to realise you'll probably never live a normal life again."

"Misery loves company, you mean?" Billy sighed, fixing Orlando with a shrewd expression. "I can't believe you're giving me the Little Orphan Annie routine."

"And I can't believe you're even thinking of saying no," replied Orlando, sighing wearily. He stood up and reached for his coat, meticulously doing up each of the duffles down the front before reaching into his briefcase and pulling out a cardboard wallet. "I'll get fired on the spot if anyone knows I've let you read this. But I consider you a mate, not an ex-patient, and I trust you."

Billy reached out to take what Orlando offered. "What is it?"

"Elijah's case file. Have a look through. There's everything in there you could ever need to know about this guy; family, upbringing, former career, treatment..." Orlando shrugged. "Maybe it'll change your mind."

Billy was sceptical; he planned to keep the file somewhere safe and return it to Orlando the next time they saw one another. A quick thanks, but no thanks to the Yank adoption scheme. But after a day or so curiosity got the better of him. 

Just as it seemed curiosity had finally got the better of Elijah.

"Elijah, for fuck's sake, unlock this door." Billy hammered on it with his fist, patience running out. "If you don't unlock it I'll break the bloody thing down."

Billy had never broken down a door in his life, but he'd seen it on telly, so how hard could it be? Sean wouldn't be too impressed, but-

With a sudden flash of inspiration, he stopped hammering for a second and turned his back on the room. "Sean? Are you there?" Billy'd never felt like more of a numpty, calling out to thin air, but desperate times called for irrational methods. "Sean, I swear to God I'll break down this door of yours if you don't unlock it for me. Help me out this one time, eh? If you don't, I'll replace it with something cheap and nasty from Homebase."

Billy looked over his shoulder when he heard the snick of the lock. With a polite nod of thanks, he tried the handle and entered the bedroom, much to Elijah's obvious horror.

"Sean! I can't believe you!" he wailed from the windowsill, face pained. 

"Don't blame him," said Billy, closing the door behind him and locking it again. "He obviously knows what happened last night." He pulled the key out and waved it at Elijah. "And now _I_ want to know."

Elijah pulled his knees up higher, tighter to his chest, resting his face on them. "There's nothing to talk about."

"I've seen Dom, you know. I saw what you did."

"I didn't do anything, it wasn't me," Elijah mumbled into his knees.

"You bit him, didn't you?"

Elijah offered no reply, just continued to hide his face in a way that infuriated Billy. Twenty-five years old and he still acted like a child. It was inexcusable, sickness or no sickness. 

He nodded. "Fine. But just so you know, I'm going to ask him to leave, Elijah."

"What?" Elijah blurted, finally looking up. "No!"

"Did you actually think I'd let him stay around you after what you did? He's not safe! You can't be trusted around him!"

"It was an accident," mumbled Elijah. "We were drunk."

"Aye, well, I'm not entirely sure that will stand up in court," Billy replied with a humourless laugh. "Is he infected?"

Elijah shook his head.

"How do you know?"

"I don't. But I don't think... I mean, I didn't bite him much," said Elijah. "Just a little."

Billy would have laughed for real had it not been so fucked up. "Christ. All that time in the loony bin and they didn't even teach you safe sex?"

Elijah's face crumpled into a despairing expression, and Billy almost regretted his off-hand remark. Almost, but not quite. After all, if Elijah attacked Dom again they could both end up seeing out their days in said loony bin. That wasn't an option Billy was willing to consider, not least because his own legal ties to Elijah would mean he would have to pay the price for any slips in his charge's behaviour. 

Which left only one choice. 

Elijah stumbled gracelessly down from the windowsill and crossed the room. "Please, don't make him leave. Please, Billy." He sighed, defeated. "It's been so long since I've been with anyone. I lost it, just for a second. It won't happen again, I swear it won't." 

Elijah smiled hopefully and reached out to clasp Billy's sleeve. Billy stared back for several long seconds. He knew Elijah was sincere in his regret, that his contrite manner wasn't just for show. He also knew Elijah had no idea of how many consequences his lapse had. With a gentle tug, he freed his arm from Elijah's grip.

"You risked all our lives, Elijah, not just Dom's." Billy turned his back on him and unlocked the door. "For all our sakes, he's got to leave." 

*

Dom leaned his head a little closer to the door, straining unsuccessfully to hear what Billy was saying to Elijah on the other side. He could barely believe Billy was getting involved in what happened last night; after all, they were both adults. So what if they'd got a little frisky after a few beers? It was only natural. Inevitable, even, considering Elijah's blindingly obvious crush. 

Giving up on his eavesdropping, Dom crossed the hall to his own room, swaggering a little as he remembered how much fun Elijah had been once he'd got over his initial nerves. He was a squirmer, a wriggler in all the right ways. Sure, it'd all ended badly this time, but lesson learned, and all that. Next time Dom planned on seducing Elijah completely sober, just to make sure no one passed out at the wrong time.

"Dominic?" 

Dom turned to see Billy hovering at his doorway; he looked uncharacteristically nervous, and Dom smiled. If he was due for The Talk, too, at least Billy had the decency to look sheepish about delivering it. 

He beamed in welcome. "Billy! What an unexpected pleasure. What can I do you for?"

"We need to have a chat," Billy replied, coming inside and closing the door behind him. "In private."

"Well, come in, by all means," said Dom, waving a hand at the door and feeling hard done-by when Billy failed to notice his obvious sarcasm. 

"I won't fuck about," Billy said. "I need to know what happened last night."

"Last night?" Dom affected innocence; he desperately wanted Billy to spell it out, maybe even to blush a little. "I don't know what you mean."

Billy huffed impatiently. "You and Elijah. What happened between you? How far did you go?"

Dom raised his eyebrows and snorted out a surprised little laugh. "And since when was that any of your business, exactly?"

"Everything Elijah does is my business, Dom," Billy replied, his tone quiet and firm despite his obvious discomfort. It just made Dom laugh harder.

"Oh really? Well, I reckon this particular branch of the MI5 doesn't need to know about his sex life. Let him keep something private, yeah?"

"Take me seriously, for fuck sake!" Billy finally exploded. "Tell me what the fuck happened!"

Dom stared back at Billy in surprise. He hadn't expected Billy to blow up quite so quickly. Two little spots of colour had risen on his cheeks, and there was a flush of red across the bridge of his nose. His hands were balled into fists, and they were actually shaking. Dom wondered if things might actually come to blows; he didn't see Billy as a threat as such, but he didn't fancy his chances either. Still, despite all this he just couldn't stop himself from pushing a little further. 

He smiled, a feral grin. "What's the matter, Billy?" he asked, tone silky and mocking. "Jealous?"

Round about the time Billy's hand closed around his throat, Dom realised what a bad decision he had made. It was one he seriously regretted as soon as he found himself pinned against the wall for the second time in a day, only this time there was one hand squeezing his windpipe, while another was aimed squarely at his face. 

"Jesus!" he gasped out, feeling Billy grip harder. "It was a joke!"

Billy leaned closer; Dom could smell the stale alcohol on his breath.

"Tell me what happened last night, Dom."

"We snogged, that's all," Dom squeaked, pushing back ineffectually at Billy's chest and realising with dismay that he was much stronger than he looked. "We had a snog, I passed out, that's _it_!"

"Passed out how?"

"We'd been drinking all night, and I hadn't eaten. I guess I was more drunk than I realised," Dom let out another less-than-manly noise when Billy squeezed a little harder. "Elijah must have left me on the floor and chucked the quilt over me, and I woke up there this morning, okay? That's it!"

Billy slowly let go of his stranglehold. "That's it?"

Dom nodded. "That's it. I promise." He reached up and massaged the bruised side of his neck. "Christ, Billy, that was fucking unnecessary."

"What happened with that?" Billy asked, unmoved by Dom's complaint.

"Lovebite," Dom replied petulantly. "Never seen one before?"

"Did Elijah do it?"

"Fucking hell. _Yes_ , Elijah did it!"

Billy nodded, expression serious. "And you passed out straight after?"

"I don't know!" Dom was getting tired of the questions, despite knowing it was better just to answer them. His ego was even more bruised than his neck; in fact, he felt like a guilty teenager. "I told you, I was pissed."

"Did you have a migraine when you woke up? Were you confused? Cold? Sick?" 

"Yes, I was fucking confused! I was on the floor, for fuck sake! You know that little sod broke the skin, don't you? Have you even seen the state of the carpet?" Dom gestured towards a small brownish stain beside the wardrobe. It was one of the first things he'd noticed on waking. That and the fact he was on the floor. Under a duvet. Half naked. "Am I going to get my deposit back now? Because that really wasn't my fault." Billy glanced down at the stain and then back at Dom, sighing heavily. Dom wasn't ready to shut up, though.

"And you know what? Since we're all about honesty today, I have some fucking questions: what about the ghost, Billy? What about the _fucking_ ghost that no-one saw _fucking_ fit to tell me about before I _fucking well_ moved in, huh?" Dom gestured wildly, his anger rising as Billy began to walk towards the door. "Don't fucking walk out on me now, you prick! I want some answers, too!"

Billy turned around and looked Dom in the eye with a stern expression. "I want you out, Dom. Don't worry about the rent you owe, just leave."

Dom felt his stomach lurch. "What?"

"Pack up your stuff and get out. I'm going to the pub, and I want you gone by the time I get home, is that understood?"

"You can't just kick me out!" Dom yelled, following Billy out into the hallway. Elijah stood in his own doorway, eyes wide and darting between Billy and Dom. "Where the hell am I going to go? You have to give me notice or something!"

"That's not my problem, Dom; you're behind on your rent anyway," Billy replied, walking down the stairs. "If you're not out by the time I'm back, we'll be having serious words."

"Oh, right, _words_. Why don't you just kick the shit out of me now and have done with it, eh?" Billy stared straight ahead, refusing to respond to Dom's heckles in any way. A few seconds later Dom heard the front door slam shut. 

"Fucking _words_ ," he muttered, stalking back down the hall to his room, noting with some anger that Elijah had retreated again. "Yeah, that's right, Elijah, fucking hide in your room. Thanks for nothing, _mate_."

He aimed a kick at the door, howling with pain when he remembered too late he had no shoes on. Limping and doubly-humiliated, Dom retreated to his bedroom and slammed the door.

*

An hour later Dom began his ungainly descent down the stairs, laden with two equally heavy bags and his ever-awkward guitar case. He had no idea how he had managed to acquire so much more stuff since moving in; he couldn't have been shopping more than a dozen times in the previous few weeks. Either way, he felt grateful he'd managed to stretch one of his credit cards to a beautiful piece of luggage from Selfridges. Pointless at the time, aside from the spending rush, but invaluable now he was out on the streets again. 

As he reached the downstairs hall he made a mental note to apply for a new credit card as soon as he was settled somewhere new. 

"So you're actually leaving?"

Dom threw a scowl over his shoulder before making his way towards the front door. This was no time for pleasantries. "Bravo, Elijah. Your observational skills are second to none."

"Oh," Elijah replied needlessly, the stairs creaking as he walked down them. 

Dom turned to look at him, more heavy-handed sarcasm on the tip of his tongue - _Oh, you care now, do you?_ \- but Elijah looked so downcast he somehow bit his tongue. 

"I don't want you to," Elijah said, staring down at the carpet and then off at the wall. "To go, I mean. I really, really want you to stay."

Dom snorted. "I didn't realise you actually got a say in what goes on around here."

"Don't listen to Billy, he's just angry. When he calms down, he'll understand that what happened was nothing to worry about." Elijah smiled hopefully. "Please stay?"

"Elijah," Dom dropped his bags from his shoulder and placed his guitar down beside them, "what's going on with you and Billy? Are you guys together or something?"

"No!" Elijah shook his head emphatically, laughing a little. "No way, Billy's _totally_ straight."

"So why does he want me out?" Dom asked. "All we did was mess around a bit together. If he's not your boyfriend, why does he have a problem with it?"

The question seemed to floor Elijah. He stared back for a few seconds, opening his mouth and inhaling as if to speak, only to look away again almost immediately. Dom's patience finally ran out.

"Fine. Don't tell me," he snapped, not really caring that he sounded like a petulant child. "You lot are a load of freaks, you know that? I'm glad I'm getting out of this fucking house." 

Dom hastily grabbed his belongings, shifting them all into one hand and twisting open the front door, trying to ignore the instantaneous and unfamiliar guilt he felt at such an angry au revoir. All he wanted was to flounce. He was _good_ at flouncing. All Dom ever wanted was the last word and a decent exit and he most certainly didn't want to feel guilty about any of it.

But then, he'd never had to flounce out on someone like Elijah before. 

Taking a deep breath, he turned around. "I didn't mean that," he said, Elijah's hurt expression faltering a little at the apology. "Listen. If you ever decide to, y'know, leave the house, how about you and me have a drink sometime? I want to see you again."

Elijah beamed, and Dom felt a pleasing sense of goodwill. "Yeah. Sure. I'd love to. Really." His eyes dropped after a couple of seconds and he gestured a little self-consciously at the guitar in Dom's hand. "I never heard you play. Maybe you could come back and teach me, like you said you would? You could come round when Billy was at work. I wouldn't tell him."

Feeling unusually honest, Dom feigned an embarrassed expression and dropped his voice to a whisper. "Since I'm leaving, I'll tell you a secret." He leaned closer, Elijah mimicking him. "I can't play."

Elijah frowned. "At all?"

"Nope." Dom leaned back again and shrugged. "Top pulling tip I learnt at uni: people are _always_ impressed by a guitar." Dom realised with some surprise that he actually felt like a bit of a tosser sharing his secret. "I'm a complete poser, really. I've only kept it because I thought one day I might learn."

Luckily, Elijah's surprise melted into amusement in a matter of seconds. "Oh my God, that's terrible!" he replied through his laughter.

"Worked on you, though, didn't it?" Dom replied shrewdly. Elijah's giggles died out.

"You think that's all it takes to impress me?" he replied. "Give me a little credit."

"Well, that and my amazing good looks, obviously." Dom tilted his head and grinned. "They go without saying." 

Elijah grinned impishly at him. "And the trivia. You give good trivia, Dom."

Dom had the sudden urge to hug him, maybe even go for a little goodbye snog. As if reading Dom's mind, Elijah crossed his arms over his chest, protecting himself from unwanted wandering hands. 

With that last precious grope out of the question, Dom opted for simple good manners. He placed his bags back down and held out his hand, smiling when Elijah reached out and shook it politely. His mother would have been proud. 

"Goodbye, Elijah."

Elijah returned his smile, giving Dom's fingers a little squeeze.

"Bye, Dom."

On impulse, Dom raised Elijah's hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Elijah visibly swallowed, lips parting. Dom smirked. "Yeah, I'll see you around, cutie. Don't forget me."

Dropping Elijah's hand and giving him a little wink, Dom bent to pick up his belongings once more.

"Wait."

Elijah's fingers closed tightly around Dom's wrist; he looked up from his uncomfortable half-crouch and frowned. "What?" Elijah tugged gently at his arm, pulling Dom upright, moving just a little closer. 

"If you're leaving, I just wanna-" Elijah pulled Dom's hand towards his face, rubbing the end of his nose against the inside of Dom's wrist. "Just for a second." 

Dom watched him inhale against the skin, nostrils flaring. His own breath stuttered in his throat when Elijah held his gaze and traced the fine blue veins that lined Dom's wrist with the very tip of his tongue. "Fuck," Elijah whispered, a little flurry of warm air tickling Dom's skin. _Fuck_ , Dom thought as Elijah inhaled again, _Oh fuck, fuck, fuck..._

It was different from the night before; when Elijah pushed him against the wall this time, Dom felt a twist of apprehension, a lightheaded vulnerability. When Elijah pressed his face into Dom's neck, warning bells went off even as his knees weakened and his dick hardened. The flat of Elijah's tongue dragged along his skin, and Dom suddenly remembered the scrape of his sharp little teeth. He wanted to flinch away, the pressure on his still-tender bruise almost too much; instead he grabbed two handfuls of Elijah's hair and moaned gratefully, willingly tipping his head away as Elijah took another long lick. "Fuck, Elijah, I-"

But Elijah was already gone, the stairs taken two at a time, bedroom door slamming behind him. 

*

 _One pint, two pints, three pints, four..._ Billy sang in his head as he jabbed his key at the lock. _Five pints, six pints, seven pints, more..._

He had no idea how many he'd actually managed to drink down the pub, but as he finally unlocked the front door he knew the answer was too many. Still, it was Friday night, he was allowed to indulge in a little drinky if he fancied it. And, best of all, it was only nine-thirty. Plenty more time before Billy needed to sleep. 

He kicked his shoes off against the wall and shambled into the kitchen, heading straight for the refrigerator. He crowed a little cheer of victory when he found a four-pack of Stella waiting for him; he pulled the cans out and cuddled them to his chest. 

The stairs were mountainous, and Billy considered sleeping on the sofa, or maybe even right where he was. 

"Where? There, there on the stair," he sang quietly to himself, sniggering a little. 

His amusement died out the second he saw the light beneath Dom's door. He stopped and stared at it, swaying on his feet, thinking hard. He was sure he had told Dom to leave by the time he got back. He thought a little harder; yes, he _definitely_ specified by the time he came back. 

Billy walked with as much purpose as he could muster and burst into Dom's room without knocking. 

"Hello, Billy," Dom said, smiling brightly. "I thought I heard you come in."

Billy just stared. Dom was standing in the middle of the room, topless, one leg up in front of him, arms out-stretched at his sides. "What are you doing?"

"Pilates. It's very relaxing. You should try it."

"I told you to leave," Billy said, waving a finger in Dom's general direction. "I told you to get out."

"And Elijah asked me to stay," Dom replied, putting both feet on the ground and shaking out his arms. "I considered both options and decided I liked his better."

Billy took a deep breath and ran his free hand through his hair. "I told you to leave. I want you out, Dom! Understand?"

"Look, Billy, it's not that I don't respect you," Dom replied, an infuriating smirk on his face. "But Elijah wants me here. He _needs_ me here."

"He needs you gone!" Billy shouted.

"He needs a _friend_ , for fuck's sake!" Dom shouted right back. "And I'm the only one he's got right now."

Billy felt like crying from frustration. "Please, Dom, for your own good, for _Elijah's_ own good, you have to go. You don't understand what you're dealing with."

"Then tell me!"

"I can't," Billy replied. "I actually just... can't."

Dom crossed the room and picked up his wallet from the bed. "Here's the rent I owe. I'm sorry it's late."

"I don't want your money," Billy pushed the notes away. "You aren't safe, Dom."

"You're drunk." Dom folded the money and held it out, his expression serious and tone soft. "You know, if I asked him to, I reckon he would come with me." Billy opened his mouth to protest, to make it quite clear Elijah was going nowhere. "But I'm not going to do that," Dom said quickly. "I know he means a lot to you, and you mean a lot to him. But that means that _I'm_ not leaving, so you might as well take this."

Billy took a deep breath. He stared at Dom, at the cash in front of him. He realised with a sinking feeling that Dom was right, that there was a good chance his charge would follow the object of his affections, even if it meant leaving the house - leaving everyone else - behind. For the first time since Elijah moved in, Billy felt scared of letting Orlando down.

He took the money. 

*

He was the last person Elijah expected to see coming into the house at five am; he was the last person Elijah expected to see in the house, period. But there he was, climbing the stairs. Dom smelled of stale smoke and someone else's aftershave; he grinned like the devil. Elijah instantly forgot his early-morning thirst.

"You're still here."

"I'm still here," Dom replied. He cocked his head and continued to smirk at Elijah. "Aren't you happy?"

Elijah nodded, taking another two steps down until he was only one stair above Dom. "What about Billy?"

"Fuck Billy," Dom replied, grabbing Elijah's wrist and holding his hand up. "Straighten your fingers." Elijah did as he was told, feeling a little thrill when Dom ran an index finger across his palm. "I fucked a palm reader tonight, can you believe that?"

Elijah shook his head, swallowing around the painful lump in his throat that appeared when he imagined Dom with someone else. Dom stopped examining Elijah's palm and looked him in the eye. "Palm readers say that if your ring finger is longer than your index finger, you have a high libido." He held his own hand up and wiggled his fingers at Elijah. "It's a close call, but I think we both win. Shame the same couldn't be said for the wanker who used it to pick me up." 

The lump was there again. Elijah tugged his hand away, but Dom refused to take the hint. "Came after two minutes and fell asleep, can you believe it? I had to finish myself off _and_ find my way home from bloody Dalston. Anyway," Dom reached for both of Elijah's hands and grinned, "let's look at your thumbs. C'mon, spread 'em."

Elijah giggled as Dom pursed his lips and stared intently from one hand to the other. "You, Mr. Wood, have been lying to me."

"I have?" Elijah frowned. 

"Yes, you have." Dom affected a stern expression. "You led me to believe that you're rather partial to my perfectly-formed male body. Your thumbs, on the other hand, tell a completely different story."

Elijah pulled his hands away and stared at them intently. "What do they say?"

"A man is as straight as his thumbs, and your thumbs are painfully heterosexual," Dom decreed, adopting an official-sounding voice. 

Elijah shot him an incredulous look before bursting into laughter. "Get out of here. Let me see yours!"

Dom raised his left hand and splayed his fingers. "See? My thumb is comfortable in - and _proud_ of - its homosexuality. Unlike _your_ closeted little digits."

Glancing down, Elijah pointed at the hand Dom had snuck behind his back. "What about the other one?"

"The other one?" Dom smiled. "The other one is just the same. I have perfectly symmetrical hands. I was a hand model when I was a child."

"That's bullshit!" laughed Elijah, grabbing Dom's right wrist and trying to pull it out between them. "Show me that one!" 

"I was!" Dom protested through his own laughter. "I did Fairy Liquid! And Hovis, and Milky Bars! Google me!"

"Bullshit! Bullshitter! Show me!" Elijah realised his laughter had turned to shrieks of giggles as he wrestled with Dom as soon as the landing light came on. Billy glared down at them both, his hair in disarray, naked but for a pair of faded white and blue striped boxers. 

"Will the pair of you put a fucking lid on it? Some of us have to get up for work in two fucking hours."

Elijah looked at Dom, who had affected a contrite expression. He did the same. 

"Sorry, Billy," they said together, chiming their apology like naughty schoolboys. 

Billy grunted at them and turned on his heel, knocking the light back off as he went, plunging Dom and Elijah back into the semi-darkness of the early morning. 

"Someone needs to take him shopping for new pants," Dom whispered. Elijah sniggered. Billy slammed his bedroom door shut. 

"Show me," Elijah hissed quietly, reaching again for Dom's right hand. Rolling his eyes, Dom held it up to display a perfectly straight thumb. 

"Okay, so I only have one gay thumb," he admitted. "But this one's my wanking hand, so I'm working on converting it."

Elijah laughed, taking care to hush his amusement to Billy-friendly levels. "What else did you learn?"

"That's it, I'm afraid," Dom said. "That's all I've got for you today." He leaned closer and pressed a light kiss to Elijah's mouth. "Night, then."

Elijah watched him walk up the stairs and disappear into his own room before dropping down to sit on the stairs. He held his hands out in front of him and examined his thumbs a little more, frowning. After a few seconds of intense study, he grinned.

"Bullshitter."


	8. Dominic

Dom flopped down on the sofa beside Elijah; Elijah smiled at him before turning his attention back to the television. They watched together in silence for a while, Dom uncomplaining when Elijah flicked channels without asking first, going the entire way through before skipping back and settling on their Sunday morning back-up plan, the _Hollyoaks_ omnibus. Dom had seen every episode that week; in fact, he'd watched them all with Elijah. The pair of them had settled into a televisual routine weeks back, staring at the set during the early evening like unashamed layabouts: _Neighbours_ , _The Simpsons_ , _Hollyoaks_ , five days a week, repeats on weekends. And if they really couldn't be bothered to move, _Friends_ was always a safe bet, somewhere in the listings. Dom smiled contentedly; _long may it continue_ , he thought. 

A shame, then, that he really couldn't laze around indefinitely. He had work to do, a plan to set in motion. "What time does Billy get back from work today?" he asked, breaking the silence.

"Hmm?" Elijah replied distractedly, clearly having to drag his attention away from the screen. "Oh, um, around two, I think. Why?"

"Me and him are making friends today, whether he likes it or not."

*

Billy's palms itched. He scratched them thoroughly after dumping his shopping bags on the kitchen table, wishing the irritation were a sign of an unexpected cash-in, all the while knowing it heralded something far less satisfying. 

He began to unpack, rolling his eyes when Elijah came sniffing, digging through the plastic carriers for something sweet. "You could help put this stuff away, you know," he scolded, watching Elijah cram half a packet of Rolos into his mouth in one go and sneak guiltily out of the room without a word. He passed Dom on the way out, and Billy's frown was like a reflex. 

He wished he hadn't moaned quite so loudly when Dom offered an irritatingly jovial, "Let me. You stick the kettle on." Billy did as he was told, more from a desire to avoid unnecessary interaction with Dom than from any gratitude. His skin prickled, an itch that ran from neck to toes and back again. He gave an involuntary shiver. Dom smiled. 

"Bloody freezing out there today," he said, wedging milk into the fridge. "You won't catch me going out."

"Yeah, well, some of us actually earn a living, Dom. We're not all spongers." Billy saw Dom's face twitch a little from his barbed response, but after a second's hesitation he covered it with an infuriatingly good-natured smile. 

"Good point, well made," Dom replied. "Where do you put these?" 

Billy gestured grumpily at his cupboard and watched Dom stack a couple of tins of beans inside. In the wrong place, of course; Billy wanted to push him out the way and fix things. They belonged to the right, next to the soup, one in front of the other. They did _not_ belong in the middle, in the way of everything. 

Resolving to move things around the second Dom had buggered off, Billy distracted himself from the chaos by filling up the kettle and setting it to boil. Dom was right about one thing - Billy _was_ gagging for a cuppa. 

Dom moved around the kitchen, unpacking the bags and continuing to put everything in the wrong place; Billy bit the inside of his cheek and scratched the persistent itch that had started on his forehead. Along with the itching, the afternoon drawing in brought a familiar and utterly unwelcome tiredness, and Billy resented it enough to try and hold out just a little longer than his body normally allowed. When the kettle finally boiled he made his coffee strong and black, loading it with sugar. He pointedly refused to offer to make a drink for Dom, swallowing his displeasure when Dom cheerfully asked for one regardless. 

Dom scrunched the emptied plastic bags together into a ball and binned them. "There. All done," he announced, like he deserved a medal for helping out once in a while. He turned to Billy, still smiling that inane smile, and opened his own cupboard. "Listen, why don't we make these coffees Irish?" he said, pulling out a bottle of Glenfiddich. 

The last person Billy ever intended to drink with was Dom, especially not that afternoon. He itched his right palm and shook his head. "I don't think so." Picking up his coffee, Billy made his way towards the doorway.

"Hey, come on. Just one?" Dom stepped into Billy's path, blocking his exit. "I bought it special."

"You should have saved your dole for rent," Billy snapped back. "Or maybe spent it on bus fare so you could do a bit of job hunting."

Dom tilted his head and sighed. "Come on, Billy; can't we make up?" He smiled, laughed a little. "I promise I don't bite."

"Christ, you're a wanker."

"I know. But have a drink with me this once and I promise I'll never ask again." 

Billy scratched his right palm again; the other itched in sympathy. He glanced out of the window and sighed. Time really was dragging on. "One drink. That's it."

"Brilliant." Dom grinned and gestured at the table. "Shall we?"

*

"Y'see, it's not that I hatecha for no reason, Dom, it's not that I just... _hatecha_ ," Billy slurred, gesturing with a wagging finger. "It's not!"

Dom smiled, trying to stay relaxed. His pride told him to punch Billy in his superior face; his good sense knew that at the unbelievable rate Billy was getting drunk, it was best to bite his tongue just a little longer. "Is that right?"

"No! No, I don't just _hatecha_ , like, as a _person_ ," said Billy. "I just think you need to get a job, 'cos it's my taxes that are paying for you to lie around all day doing... whatever it is you do."

"Well, that is a fair point, I have to admit." Dom pulled Billy's glass closer, coffee mugs long since forgotten, and topped it up with a little more scotch. 

Billy nodded enthusiastically. "Is it! Elijah can't work; Orlando can't work; that's fine. But you!" He wagged his finger again; Dom itched to grab it and force it back down against the table. " _You're_ just lazy."

Taking a sip from his own glass, Dom had to admit there was more than a little truth to that. At the same time, he knew he wouldn't have it any other way. Sleeping late, watching daytime TV, afternoon wanks and clubbing till the early hours; yeah, he was happy with his lot, even if he wasn't one of life's high-flyers. 

"So, tell me, Billy - what _is_ going on with Orlando?" Dom watched Billy narrow his eyes. "Elijah's told me a little-"

"What's Elijah told you?" Billy cut in, leaning over the table.

Dom shrugged. The truth was nothing whatsoever. No matter how much he pressed and flirted, Elijah always changed the subject when it came to Orlando. The only time he'd ever come close, the stupid ghost had called time on the discussion and Elijah had been annoyingly cagey ever since. "Bits and bobs, y'know," he lied. 

"Orlando's business is none of your... none of _your_ business," said Billy. He scratched hard at one of his arms and Dom wondered how he'd never noticed how hairy Billy was before. It was almost frightening. "It's his business, like my business and Elijah's business and your business is..." He stopped and frowned, clearly confused. "None of your. Business."

"I see. But Elijah's sex life doesn't count as his business, does it, Billy?" Dom said without thinking, realising he'd gone too far when Billy tried to stand up, stumbling a little, knocking his drink over as he grabbed for the table. 

"That's different. That _is_ my business, Dom, it's all my business, because Elijah..." Billy didn't seem to notice the scotch dripping onto the floor beside him. "Elijah's my responsibility. You get me? He's _my_ responsibility, and I promised Orlando I wouldn't let anything happen to him when he was gone." Billy swallowed, scratched his cheek, and sat back down with a thump. "And now you're happening, and it's all going wrong."

Dom reached out and turned Billy's glass upright, ignoring the spillage and refilling it instead. "So Orlando's not going to be with us long? Is that what you're saying?"

"I'm saying..." Billy scrubbed hard at his face. "I'm saying... what I'm saying. I'm saying... that."

Dom had no idea what Billy was saying, aside from the fact that maybe Orlando wasn't long for this world. Funnily enough, he'd found it hard to bond with his comatose flatmate, but he often heard Elijah chattering away to Orlando during the day. The thought of Elijah losing one of his few sounding boards saddened him. 

"Billy, I want you to know something," Dom said, watching Billy take a messy drink, scotch dribbling down his chin. "I like Elijah, I really do. He's a nice guy. But it feels like there's a lot you aren't telling me about him, and it's getting a little old now."

"That's because you can't be trusted," Billy asserted, wagging his finger again. 

"I can-"

"And _he_ can't be trusted, so you have to keep your hands to yourself," Billy said, uninterested in Dom's protest. "You, you need to stay away from him, 'cos I can't trust him, and I can't trust you."

Dom narrowed his eyes. "Trust him how?"

"With the- fuck." Billy scratched at his face with both hands, before plonking one slap down in the middle of his puddle of scotch. "Fuck. There's- I should clean this."

Standing up quickly, Dom gestured for Billy to stay where he was. He crossed the kitchen and picked up a tea towel, using it to mop up the spillage. "There. Better?"

"I coulda done it."

"It's my pleasure."

Billy made a disgruntled _harumph_ noise, before folding his arms in front of him on the table and resting his head on top of them. "I need to go to bed. S'late."

Dom looked at the clock on the microwave. "It's only half four, Billy."

"S'late," Billy insisted, eyes closed. Dom sat back and stared at him for a while, sipping his drink. "Billy," he said eventually, "was Elijah in prison or something?"

Billy didn't answer. Dom downed the rest of his drink and watched him sleep for a couple of minutes, before getting up and carrying his chair out of the kitchen. He quietly closed the door after him, wedged the chair underneath the handle, and climbed the stairs.

*

"I know you're watching me."

Dom made his voice as forceful as he could without raising it above a hiss. He had no idea how long he had before Billy woke up and made a fuss, and while Elijah was happily settled in Orlando's room for the time being, Dom knew he might get bored and wander downstairs at any time. He hadn't yet decided how he'd explain trapping Billy in the kitchen. Or how he'd explain the snooping in Billy's bedroom, come to that. 

"You know why I'm doing it. You've seen everything, haven't you?" He said, turning around in a circle and trying to sense where to direct his voice. "If they won't tell me what's going on, I have to find out by myself." Dom nodded, satisfied that he'd made his point, even if there was no response. 

Billy's room was sparsely furnished and painstakingly neat. Dom was pleased to discover the latter; if it were in the same bombsite state as his own, he would never find anything of interest. 

Opening the wardrobe door, he glanced quickly at the few clothes hung neatly on the rail and snorted; Billy really was pathetically straight. A few shirts, a pair of suit-like trousers and a leather jacket comprised the entire contents. Below were three pairs of shoes, laid out neat and straight: a pair of shiny dress shoes, a tatty pair of trainers and some mud-splattered Doc Martins. He made a mental note to take Billy shopping, in the unlikely event they ever became friends.

Undeterred by the boring wardrobe, Dom moved over to the bed, lifting up the mattress. Nothing, not even a dog-eared porn magazine. Sinking onto the duvet, he pulled open the drawers of the bedside table. All were distressingly empty. The only thing out of place was a half-full glass of water on the table top. 

Dom began to wonder exactly what Billy did with himself in his room - no porn for wanking, no books for reading... no television or stereo, either. Elijah's room was crammed full of stuff; Billy's seemed more like a cell. He laughed when he saw a box of tissues; going by his room, Billy probably used them to blow his nose. 

Guilt began to sweep through Dom, involuntary and resented. He realised that not only was he prying, he was prying into the room of someone who clearly had very little to be happy about. Billy guarded his personal space like a possessive hound, and for what? To hide away in his dull little room, to sit and brood with his bottle of scotch. The guilt was briefly replaced with sympathy, leading instantly back to yet more guilt: Dom had centred all of his attention on Elijah, the one who entertained him and massaged his ego. Billy had been cold and withdrawn from the beginning, and Dom had given up trying. Despite this, he knew Billy worked all hours to keep his housebound housemates afloat. And when he wasn't working he came back to... _this_. Nothing.

With a little sigh, Dom stood and smoothed the wrinkles from the duvet, intent on sneaking back downstairs, helping Billy into bed and maybe doing something useful with himself for once. As he turned his back to the room, a dull thud made him stop. He glanced around, eyes settling on the glass beside the bed. It rolled lazily, back and forth, water pooling on the surface of the bedside cabinet, dripping down onto the carpet with fat little thuds. 

"Fuck," Dom swore under his breath, walking around to the other side of the bed and picking up the tissues. Bending down, he began to pat at the wet spot, wondering how long it would take for the water to dry, and if he should refill the glass or leave it as it is; whether Billy was too drunk to even remember a drink beside his bed.

As he pondered his many options, Dom's gaze flickered to the back of the cabinet. A cardboard corner stuck out at an angle. He didn't think twice about easing the folder out, the spillage forgotten. 

_PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL_ was printed across the front. The warning gave Dom a little thrill, but not as much as the name did:

 _Elijah Jordan Wood_. 

There was a little scrape above his head, and Dom looked up in time to see the glass upending itself. He stared at it for a few seconds, mouth suddenly dry, heart thumping. And then he grinned broadly. "Thanks, Sean." He waved the folder a little. "And for this, too."

Opening the folder, he took in the cover sheet. In the top left-hand corner was an NHS logo, accompanied by the words _Barnet, Enfield and Haringey_ and _Mental Health Trust_. He glanced down the page and stared at the facts on display: Elijah's name, neatly penned in as a patient; the dates declaring the commencement of treatment, the names of doctors and, oddly enough, Orlando's name, listed as a social worker. Dom huffed his breath out and stared up at the empty space above him. 

"He was in a mental ward?" Sean gave no response; Dom didn't expect one. "Christ. A _mental ward_?"

Flicking through the pages, he found a computer-typed sheet with a different logo at the top: a tree with _The Grange_ written beneath it. Below that, Elijah's name was printed again, alongside an evaluation date and the name of another doctor. Dom frowned and began to read.

_Patient far more settled this week. Still unwilling to talk, but non-violent and no longer in need of sedation._

Dom scanned down the page, flipped ahead, too impatient and overwhelmed to sit and absorb the details slowly. After several reports that all seemed to say vaguely the same as the first, his eyes fell on one sentence that leapt out of the page so much it might as well have been highlighted. 

_Patient's vampiric tendencies seem to be under control. However, it is recommended that a close watch remains for self-harm and self-feeding._

Dom blinked. He read the sentence over again, slowly and carefully, and then read it once more, just in case. His hand strayed up to his neck, fingertips brushing over the place Elijah had bitten him. "Did you know about this?" Dom asked, looking around the room. "You did, didn't you? That's why you tried to-" He stopped, swallowed, and stared down at the papers in his hands again. "You tried to stop us having sex, because you knew he would- that he was-' Dom exhaled, finally lost for words. Well, almost. "Fuck," he muttered, closing the folder and climbing to his feet. "Fuck me." 

He walked out of Billy's room in a daze, forgetting he was supposed to be snooping, and therefore sneaking, and, most of all, discreet on exit. Elijah hovered in Orlando's bedroom doorway; he wore a quizzical expression and looked far more normal than Dom was prepared for. 

"What are you doing in Billy's room?"

"Me?" Dom replied. "I'm getting some answers courtesy of your pal Sean."

Elijah's eyebrows scrunched together in a frown. With a quick look behind him, he pulled Orlando's door shut. "What?"

"I know everything, Elijah, okay?" Dom waved the case file at Elijah. "I know why everyone's been lying to me since I moved in, and I know why Billy wanted me out, and I know why you're so-" He waved a hand vaguely beneath his chin. "Neck happy. I _know_." He passed the folder to Elijah. 

"Oh." Elijah stared at the cover, and then Dom, frown melting, eyes widening. "Oh. Oh, oh. Oh fuck." He stepped back until he bumped into Orlando's door, before sliding down to hit the carpet, knees drawn up, hiding his face behind his hands. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck." 

Dom smirked, crossing the landing and kneeling down in front of him. "Aw, c'mon. It's okay. No need to be embarrassed, little vampire. We all have fantasies when we're younger." Elijah pulled his hands away and stared at Dom as if he'd grown another head. "I always wanted to be Luke Skywalker when I was a kid. Of course, no one put me in a funny farm 'cos of it, but hey, if you want to pretend you're Count Dracula, I can play that game." Dom grinned as Elijah's mouth fell open. "I like a bit of kinky roleplay, me."

"Dom, you think-"

"So, do you like your victim to be all weak and helpless? Or do you like a bit of a struggle first?" Dom bit on his bottom lip and ran his hands up Elijah's shins, gently easing his knees apart. Elijah offered no resistance, just continued to stare at Dom with what Dom assumed was gratitude. _Yeah, you're welcome_ , Dom thought, resisting the urge to say it out loud, no matter how much praise he thought he deserved for being so open minded. "Let's go do it now. You can give me another one of those hardcore lovebites, it'll annoy the fuck out of Billy."

"No," Elijah replied, pushing back on Dom's chest. "No, stop it. You don't understand."

Dom rolled his eyes. Elijah was going to have to be far more forceful if they were going to play this game, that was for sure. "Don't worry. He's out cold, he won't hear a thing." Feeling Elijah's resistance weaken just a little, Dom leaned forward a tiny bit more and whispered into Elijah's ear. "I don't care about the past. So you used to be a bit mental, who gives a shit? I still think you're sexy, and we could have so much fun with this vampire thing. I still want to fuck you, y'know."

Dipping his head, Dom pressed a line of kisses along Elijah's jaw and over his chin until his mouth hovered over Elijah's own. "Do you still want to fuck me?" 

"I-" Elijah turned his head away, resisting again, pushing at Dom's chest. "No. Bad, bad idea."

" _Good_ idea, Elijah. Now I know your _thing_ you don't have to be so shy. We can have all the kinky sex you want." Dom ignored the fact Elijah's face was still twisted away. Undeterred, he bussed his nose against Elijah's cheek and grinned. "Did you sleep in a coffin? Y'know, before."

"Fuck you."

"Is that a yes?" Dom didn't wait for an answer, just chuckled and pressed a kiss against Elijah's cheekbone. "Did you pretend to turn into a bat? Were you terrified of garlic? Did you stay out of the sunlight?" Dom gasped in delight, ignoring Elijah's embarrassed-sounding whine. "Oh my God, that's why you never go out, isn't it? Because you're scared of bursting into flames!" 

Elijah turned back to face Dom with a look so fierce Dom's smile faltered. "Fuck. _You_."

They stared at one another for a few seconds, Elijah breathing hard through his nose. Dom watched him, unsure of himself until he realised that Elijah's hands were no longer pushing back at him; instead, his fists were bunched in Dom's t-shirt, twisting the fabric, pulling at it just a little. He grinned, a thrill running through him when he realised how close he was to winning.

"Did I taste good?" he whispered, holding Elijah's gaze. "When you bit me, did I taste as good as you wanted me to?"

"Nuhurg," Elijah replied.

Dom smiled at his eloquence, kissed him hard and replied, "I'll take that as a yes."

*

"There's no need to be quiet," Dom panted. "Billy's out like a, _ahhh_ , like, _ah-ahhh_ , a light."

Elijah didn't reply. In fact, with his eyes screwed tightly shut and his hand over his mouth, Dom could have sworn he was enjoying this experience a lot less than Dom was used to. He turned his face and pressed it against the side of Elijah's knee where it bent over his shoulder. "I wish you'd make some fucking noise," he grunted. When he got no response, Dom bent his head, bared his teeth and bit hard at Elijah's thigh.

That did the trick. Elijah's eyes flew open and he cried out, the noise muffled by the hand clapped hard over his mouth. Dom grinned. "You like being bitten, don't you? Want me to bite you again?"

Elijah didn't reply, or if he did, it was stifled by his hand. Dom gave in to his frustration and pushed inside him a little harder, ignoring the fact it made Elijah squeeze his eyes shut again. "Do it, Elijah," he demanded. "Just fucking _do_ it!" With Dom's renewed force, Elijah's body shifted across the quilt until his head began to knock against the headboard. After a few seconds, he let go of his own dick to try and push himself away; it only spurred Dom on further. 

He continued to sink his teeth into Elijah's leg, pulling at the flesh and sucking hard. Behind his hand, Elijah moaned hard every time, eventually giving up on shielding his head in favour of touching himself again. 

Dom pushed Elijah's legs from his shoulders, hitched him up a little, and leaned over until he was pressing on the backs of Elijah's thighs, pushing them as far down as possible. Supporting himself with one hand, he used the other to try and prise Elijah's hand from his mouth. 

"Come on, vampire boy, don't be shy," he whispered, starting up a slower, more careful rhythm than before. "I wanna hear you shout my name when you come, and I can hear fuck all right now." Elijah resisted, holding his hand down hard, nostrils flaring as he breathed. His eyes, now wide open, were fixed on Dom's, eyebrows drawn, his expression desperate. 

"Are you close?" 

Elijah jerked a nod.

"Good." Dom began to push hard again, grinning unsympathetically when Elijah's head knocked hard against the headboard again. "Come on, come on, come on," he grunted, pulling at Elijah's fingers. "Fucking come _on_ , Elijah!"

With one final tug he tore Elijah's hand away. Elijah cried out, finally, _finally_ , but Dom barely even noticed. He just stared, gaped at the fangs in Elijah's mouth, sharp and long and very, very real. Dom faltered, losing his rhythm. He stuttered, croaked out Elijah's name, and came.

*

"I don't know what the fuck's going on here," Dom shouted, pulling on his underwear before swearing, pulling it down again and yanking the condom off with a grimace. Not really caring for propriety, he dropped it onto the carpet and concentrated on getting dressed as fast as possible. "Is this a joke? Is this some giant fucking practical joke you bastards have been planning for weeks?"

"No!" Elijah replied. 

Dom scowled at him and pulled his jeans on, hopping on one foot. "Well, in that case, what's all this about, Elijah? Huh?" 

"I tried to tell you." Elijah drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around them and the quilt he was hiding under. "You wouldn't listen."

"To what? That you're a- a fucking-" Dom waved his arms in the air, at a loss for words. "I don't know what you are! You're nuts!"

Elijah looked up, a pained expression on his face. "I'm not crazy, Dom."

"Whatever. I'm getting out of here." Dom grabbed his wallet and phone and shoved them in his pockets. "Fucking psycho."

"I'm not!" came Elijah's protest as Dom stormed out of the room and headed down the stairs. There was no way he was stopping and listening to explanations; some things were just too bizarre to be explained away. "Please wait!" Elijah called as he followed Dom downstairs. Dom ignored him, pushing his feet into his trainers. "Please, we need to talk about this. It's important!" Elijah yanked on his underwear at the bottom of the stairs and grabbed hold of Dom's elbow. "You can't tell anyone."

"Tell them what?" Dom shouted, twisting out of Elijah's grasp. "That I shagged a total mental case?" He laughed, wondering if Elijah realised how idiotic the whole thing sounded. "Don't worry, mate, I won't tell a fucking soul."

"I'm not crazy!" Elijah cried, falling back against the front door, trying to stop Dom from leaving. "It's a disease. I'm sick. Please stay and listen to me! We need to talk about this!"

Dom snorted. "Too right, you're sick. Move out of the way." He tried to shove Elijah to one side, but Elijah was far stronger than he looked. At that point, they both snapped their heads to the side at the sound of insistent yapping. 

"Billy," Elijah breathed, abandoning his post in an instant. Dom watched him run to the kitchen, pull away the chair Dom had wedged under the handle and throw open the door. The tiny dog that had crapped in Dom's favourite shoes came scurrying out, barking fiercely, running circles around Elijah's feet. "Fuck, Billy, I'm sorry," Elijah cried, bending down and scooping the dog up, holding it against his chest. 

Dom watched the whole thing with his mouth open, trying to decide which was weirder: a psycho trying to convince him that vampires really existed... or the fact the horrible little mutt was named Billy, too. 

"Why... why is it called Billy?" Dom asked, slowly and carefully. 

Elijah looked up and held the dog out in front of him. "Because it _is_ Billy, Dom." He nodded seriously. "I'm a vampire and this is Billy and Orlando's dying and Sean's _dead_. That's what we've kept from you. That's why the rent's so cheap." The dog squirmed in Elijah's grasp; Elijah didn't seem to notice. "I don't know how to make you believe me, but it's all true." 

Dom turned on his heel, unlocked the front door and slammed it behind him.


	9. Dominic

The eggs were overdone, brown and crispy at the edges, yokes cooked solid. The sausages and tomatoes sat in a puddle of grease, the sauce from the beans congealing where it met with the oil. Dom stared at the fry-up in front of him and decided that maybe he was better off curing his hangover another way.

He took a long drink from his coffee. His head ached like buggery, and the caffeine wasn't helping. Still, he needed it. He hadn't really slept since walking out on Elijah, choosing instead to push on through, napping here and there and scamming pills and wraps of speed from the whomever he picked up, letting them fuck him in return, dressing and leaving as soon as he could in favour of all-night cafes and countless cups of coffee. 

Dom knew he smelt, and checking through his change he decided he had enough to at least deal with that minor problem. He'd left the last warm bed early that morning, grateful his nameless partner was still sleeping. After slipping two twenties and the last of the speed they'd shared from the man's wallet and into his own, Dom walked the streets in search of a tube station, completely confused as to where he was. 

His wanderings eventually led him to Leather Lane. He'd strolled through the market stalls, still setting up, and picked up a new t-shirt and a fake pair of Calvin Klein underpants, paying for them with his stolen cash. Fresh clothes were a good idea; he was more than glad to have them. 

Dom bought himself a Travelcard at Farringdon and took the tube one stop to Kings Cross. He'd always wondered what kind of person used the showers in train stations; as he washed three days worth of sweat, dirt and spunk from his skin, Dom realised he himself had somehow become the answer.

*

Poncy hotel bars were always good for higher-class shags. There was always some lonely traveller who needed a little flesh for a couple of hours - complimentary porn only lasted so long, after all. 

Best of all, in a place like this Dom knew it would be easier to filch a few more quid on exit, an essential component of his plan to not go home until he absolutely had to. 

Glancing around the bar, Dom realised it had filled up with businessmen, all suited, guffawing at their own jokes, smoking cigars like 80s clichés. Far from being somewhere to find a classier lay, Dom had somehow stumbled into a conference nightmare. 

He made a decision to move on just as someone finally decided to pay him some attention. The man wasn't bad looking; a little older than Dom normally went for, and definitely one of the conference crowd, but he had a nice smile. Dom smiled back. Maybe this wasn't such a dead loss after all. 

One drink and a furtive invite later, Dom found himself slipping the man's key card into his bedroom door and letting himself in. The room was far nicer than any Dom had ever been able to afford, but Gary - no, Gerry - _Gerry, Gerry, must remember that_ , Dom thought - appeared behind him before he had a real chance to snoop. 

Gerry looked nervous. In the bar he'd been quiet and polite, but Dom had already pegged him as a closet case, given that he'd handed over his room key to a complete stranger and asked Dom to meet him there, rather than chance the lift as a pair. "I've never done this," he admitted in the privacy of the suite, and Dom smirked. 

"Done what? Picked up another man?"

"No, I..." Gerry loosened his tie and tried to smile. "Paid for it, I mean."

Dom blinked. Realising what Gerry was implying, he made a quick decision to stay. He was prepared to let this guy fuck him for free; he figured might as well make a little extra cash out of it, too. He'd still take his cut afterwards, when Gerry was asleep; this way he could take even more than usual. Smoothing over his surprise with a smile, he pulled off his t-shirt and walked over to the bed, digging into his back pocket for the last of the wrap he'd stolen. "Do you want some?" he offered, waving the little paper triangle at Gerry. 

"What is it?"

"A little kick, that's all." Dom unfolded it on the bedside table and scooped up enough for a line between his forefinger and thumb, laying it out on the curve of his hand. "Haven't had much sleep recently."

"Coke?"

"Whizz. I don't do that crap," Dom lied. Truth was, beggars couldn't be choosers and he'd rather have a little coke than nothing. Gerry turned away and began to undress as Dom sniffed hard at his hand. "Fifty quid to suck you off," he said after he was done, shaking his head a little, pulling at his nostrils. "Seventy-five to fuck me."

*

"How did you end up doing this?"

Dom turned away; he was in no mood to talk. Considering the amount of casual sex he willingly had, Dom hadn't expected to feel this crappy after letting Gerry fuck him. He'd begged and pleaded not to use a condom, and Dom had eventually relented, upping his price to a hundred for the privilege. He decided it was the combination of a slight tinge of regret that he hadn't asked for more, and the fact the sex hadn't really been worth the effort that was making him feel that way, nothing else. 

For a second, he almost believed his own bullshit. 

"Have you been doing it long?"

Dom laughed at that. "You're my first customer, mate."

Gerry was silent for a long time, before finally saying, "Well, you're very good. I'd like to, er, book another slot, as they say, next time I'm here."

Sighing, Dom chose not to answer. The drugs thrumming through his system made sleep an entirely unlikely prospect, but it was suddenly all he wanted to do. After a while he became aware of Gerry moving out of the bed beside him. The bathroom door clicked shut and the shower came on a few moments later. Dom took his cue, getting up and dressing. 

Rifling through Gerry's clothes, he eventually found his wallet in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. It wasn't as full as Dom had hoped, but it did contain enough cash in fifties to keep him going for a couple more days. Slipping out five notes, he shoved them in his back pocket, folded up the last of his speed, and left the hotel room.

*

"It was fucked up, I'm telling you," Dom made his point by jabbing his cigarette across the table. "This guy totally looked like a vampire, teeth and everything. I couldn't believe it!"

Michael laughed. "It sounds like fun to me."

"Oh yeah, don't get me wrong," Dom said, "I was totally up for playing the helpless victim and then shagging like there's no tomorrow, but he took it too far. Basket case." He frowned as he ground out his fag. "Maybe he slipped them in when I wasn't looking," he said, more to himself than Michael. "They looked pretty real, though. Totally bizarre stuff."

"I can imagine," Michael agreed.

"Shame, though. He was fit." Dom downed the last of his drink, determined to deaden any slivers of regret with the alcohol on offer. "I actually really fancied him, y'know?" He placed the glass back on the table and spun it around a little. "I probably would have stuck around for him. I don't really do that kind of thing."

Michael reached across the table and placed his hand over the glass, holding it still. "Come back to mine. I'll help you forget him." 

Dom smiled. "Buy me another drink and ask me again."

*

Doorways were good, Dom decided. Doorways were brilliant, the best places in the world, in fact. He didn't care that this one smelt of piss and - judging by the random plastic bags and blankets left behind - clearly belonged to someone else. It was his for now.

He winced as he sat down, everything that could hurt aching like mad. He tasted blood when he licked his lips. He knew at least one of the punches to his face had left bruising; he'd caught his reflection in a shop window and it hadn't been pretty. From the looks passers-by gave him, Dom knew that, all told, he looked a complete state. Still, at least he hadn't lost a tooth. 

Stomach rumbling, Dom realised he didn't even have enough cash for a cup of coffee; Michael had taken everything except Dom's Travelcard and his door key. 

It was time to go home.

* 

Dom turned the door handle with infinite care. He made no sound whatsoever as he crept into the room, just the brush of the carpet as the door scraped over it, and his own ragged breathing. 

Elijah lay sprawled on the bed, duvet half kicked down, one arm flung out to the side of him, the other disappearing beneath the covers, heading down towards his navel. When Dom reached the side of the bed, he could hear Elijah's quiet snore. 

He stood and watched Elijah sleep for a while, wondering exactly what he was doing. Even by his own standards this was pretty creepy. Still, he didn't walk away, content as he was just to watch for a while. 

Elijah sniffed hard, and Dom started, surprised. He watched Elijah make a scrunched up expression, distasteful, unimpressed, pulling his left hand out from under the quilt to scrub at his face. Elijah's upper-lip curled up, exposing his top teeth. Nothing out of the ordinary - no fangs, just small, square, gappy teeth. Dom was almost disappointed.

Elijah's grimace melted away almost immediately, his hand lowering and disappearing back under the quilt.

The only sensible option was to walk away, Dom decided. He was still a little high, and definitely a little fucked up from what happened with Michael earlier. He needed sleep, and time, and maybe the property section from the local newspaper. The least sensible thing he could do at that precise point was spend any more time watching Elijah sleep for no apparent reason. 

And yet somehow Dom found himself carefully drawing down the quilt, toeing off his shoes, and climbing into bed, revelling in Elijah's body heat. Beneath the quilt, Dom's hand crept towards Elijah's navel, fingertips searching out his underwear, slipping inside to curl around the soft flesh of his dick. 

Dom held it carefully, unmoving, breathing a little too quickly, even more unsure of what he was doing. He squeezed gently; Elijah exhaled. And then, slowly, carefully, Dom began work his hand. 

He breathed hard through his nose as he watched Elijah respond unconsciously to his actions. There was a scrunch of the forehead, a sniff, another little grimace that puckered up his mouth - and then, _finally_ , a reaction Dom could feel: a slow but undeniable hardening beneath his fingers, against his palm. Feeling bolder, Dom slid his hand up and twisted his wrist; Elijah groused in his sleep. Dom did it again, and Elijah murmured, an altogether more encouraging sound. Once more and Dom was rewarded with a fully-fledged moan, a parting of the lips and a flash of something else. 

Elongated, gracefully curved, Elijah's canines sent Dom's stomach lurching, half from excitement, half from fear. He gaped, breath stuttering, and eventually let go of Elijah's hard-on in favour of pushing himself closer to get a better look. He cupped one side of Elijah's face in his palm and pushed his top lip up. His fangs were even more impressive when fully on show, contrasting sharply with the blunt squareness of the rest of his teeth. Dom swore under his breath and touched one with his thumb, running it down and across the very tip, wincing when he felt the sharp point slice easily into his skin. Dom pulled his hand away and stuck his thumb into his mouth, sucking on the wound. Elijah's tongue swiped across his bottom lip, up and over the fang Dom had cut himself on. He sighed, smiled. Dom could only stare.

He took his thumb out of his mouth and stared at the cut. Blood started to glisten on the surface again, oozing through the slit in his skin. Elijah sniffed, hard and short, then longer, his tongue wetting his lips again. Without thinking, Dom pressed his thumb to Elijah's mouth, smearing it with blood. Elijah sucked on his bottom lip, humming with pleasure, and when Dom held his thumb close again, Elijah reached up to take him in his mouth, sucking hard, tongue rubbing against the small wound. 

"Fuck," Dom muttered. 

Fumbling, no longer caring for delicacy, Dom grabbed hold of Elijah's hard-on with his other hand. Elijah inhaled sharply through his nose; his hand reached up and grabbed at Dom's wrist, squeezing it tight, holding him in place and forcing Dom's thumb further into his mouth. 

And then his eyes were open, wide, wide open, and he was ineffectually pushing Dom away, gasping protestations even as he came. Dom could only stare, not letting go of Elijah's dick, fingers slick with come, his other hand trailing a saliva-wet smear of blood across Elijah's chest.

Elijah gaped at him, breathing hard. "What did you do?"

Dom slowly pulled his hand out of Elijah's pants, sitting up and wiping it absently on the bedding. "I-" he started, trying to pick his words. Any words. "You-" He broke off a second time and stared at his thumb, still oozing blood, unsure of what to do with it. It seemed suddenly inappropriate to offer it to Elijah, and even more so to smear it on the bed sheets. When he looked back up, Elijah was staring at Dom's thumb, dismay written all over his face. 

"Oh God, Dom," he whispered. "What did you do?"


	10. Elijah

"What happened to you? Where did you go?" Elijah asked. Dom didn't react; he didn't even seem to have heard the question. "You've been gone for days... Your face, Dom. What happened?"

Dom just licked his lips and glanced at the clock beside Elijah's bed for the hundredth time. The minutes were ticking by painfully slowly, morning approaching at some sort of vengeful half-speed. "How long till we know?" he asked.

Elijah shrugged. "Minutes, hours... It's different for everyone."

"Days?" Dom asked.

"No." Elijah shook his head and drew his knees up a little tighter. "No, not that long."

Dom paced across the room and drummed his fingers on the window pane. "But _how_ long?"

"I don't know, okay? I really don't know."

Leaning against the wall, Dom tipped his head back and sighed heavily. He looked back at Elijah, fixing him with a pleading expression. "I just don't understand."

Elijah's pulse-racing fear had calmed to a sickly feeling of dread, but he still had no answers for Dom. All they could do was wait and see. Not for the first time he longed for Orlando's guidance again. 

"Me neither. I wish I did."

"I mean it. Don't I have to suck _your_ blood to become a vampire?" Dom's concern melted into a sardonic laugh. "Fucking hell, listen to me! This is nuts!"

"If an infected person feeds from an open wound it can be passed on through the saliva," Elijah replied quietly. 

"Yeah, you said that already. But what about the blood-drinking thing? Surely-"

"That's fiction," said Elijah. "This is real life."

Dom laughed again. "Real life? Since when did real life involve vampires and ghosts and fucking Glaswegians who turn into Yorkies on a full moon? This isn't real life, this is some sort of nightmare!"

It was Elijah's turn to laugh then. It came out cold and bitter, exactly how he felt. "That's what I've been telling myself for the last two-and-a-half years, Dom. You know, one of these days I'm going to wake up and be normal again. Like, totally normal. I'll have my job and my family and a fucking life outside of this house." He smiled then, feeling tears begin to prick behind his eyes. "I can't wait, trust me."

Lying down, he pulled the quilt up around him, curling into the foetal position. All he wanted was to disappear, pretend Dom didn't exist, pretend that he hadn't woken up teetering on the edge of an orgasm with the sharp taste of blood on his tongue. If he'd been stronger, better, less of a weakling, Elijah knew he would have been able to stop things there and then. Push Dom away and reduce the chances of cross-contamination, protect them both from the enormous consequences of the worst-case scenario.

But Elijah wasn't that better person. The taste of Dom's blood was still fresh in his memory; to have it again was too much temptation. He'd just carried on licking and sucking and coming because it was easier than stopping.

Saul had been right, after all. Elijah finally understood: after that one little taste a few drunken nights ago, he was addicted. But looking up at Dom, now sat on the windowsill, head in his hands, scared and confused and wondering if Elijah's fate had inadvertently become his own, Elijah knew that, ultimately, he could never allow himself to follow Saul's example. 

It just wasn't worth it.

*

When he began to shiver, Dom abandoned the windowsill for Elijah's bed. 

"Where did they take you? When it happened, I mean."

"I don't know, exactly." Elijah exhaled, trying to piece together what little of his memory remained of his time in hospital. "I just woke up feeling shitty in this little hospital room with bars on the windows. They gave me loads of sedatives because I went nuts trying to escape. There were armed cops outside the door. It was fucked up." 

"How long were you there for?"

Elijah stuck his bottom lip out and shrugged. "No clue. Months, I think. I couldn't keep track. After a while I went a bit crazy in there - cabin fever, y'know? And they kept doing these tests on me; I couldn't take it anymore. I tried to bite Orlando." 

"Wow," Dom breathed. 

"Yeah. In the end, and they shipped me off to this place called The Grange," Elijah smiled, then, the memory of his most permanent home in England still fresh and relatively pleasant, "and I stayed there until Orlando retired and housed me with Billy."

"Okay, so let me get this straight." Dom shifted from his side and onto his back, rearranging the pillows behind his head. "Orlando was your social worker and Billy's your... what?"

"Carer. He registered as a carer when Orlando got sick, as a favour. He took me on, and then Orlando when his family disowned him and he got too ill to look after himself." Elijah watched Dom process the information, smiling when he started to frown. "You look so confused."

"I'm not," said Dom. "I'm just surprised. I mean, I know Billy's a bit stressed out most of the time, but I never realised that he looked after you all."

Elijah nodded, suddenly feeling a great wash of affection for Billy. "I know he can be difficult, but you need to cut him some slack. He tries his best."

"He drinks too much."

"So would you if you suddenly got si-" Elijah stopped himself, but not quick enough. He watched Dom's face fall with dismay. "Dom, I didn't mean-"

Dom tried to smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Let's just wait and see, eh?"

*

"You have a heartbeat." 

Elijah smiled and nodded, and Dom stopped pressing down on his wrist. It was clearly going to be a morning of explanations. "I'm not dead."

"But vampires _are_ dead. There's the blood sucking, then you die and come back from the dead. Only... it's not you, it's a demon moving your body." Dom looked so serious that Elijah couldn't help but laugh.

"Jeez, Dom! You watch way too much television," he said once his amusement was under control. "I'm not dead, just infected with something. It's like I caught a cold." Dom hummed, a sign of his understanding, Elijah assumed, but he still frowned. "Come on, what?"

"What what?"

Elijah rolled his eyes a little. "You look like you have more questions."

"No! I get it," Dom replied, a little defensively. "I absolutely get it. You're not dead, you don't sleep in a coffin, you can't turn into a bat." He smiled and nodded. "I'm completely up to speed."

"Good."

"Except..."

Elijah groaned. "Except _what_?"

"Do you have a soul?"

"Yes! Whatever that means..."

"So you feel bad if you kill a spider, or something?" 

"Totally," Elijah said. "In fact, I never kill spiders. I help them out the window to make a new life for themselves elsewhere with their little buggy friends." He affected a serious expression and a pious tone. "We are all God's children, even if we have eight legs and eight eyes and we live in webs and-"

"Wait. So you believe in God?" Dom interrupted.

"I have the remnants of Catholic guilt. Same difference."

"Vampires aren't meant to believe in God or have souls. You're meant to be children of Satan."

Elijah laughed. "Well, if that's true, I'm clearly doing a terrible job of this vampire thing. I reckon I'm an okay person, don't you?"

Dom lifted himself forward and kissed Elijah on the mouth. Elijah started but didn't back away. "I think you're an amazing person," Dom said, bending closer again to give Elijah a more lingering kiss. Elijah had time to respond on second contact, ignoring the sensible voice in his head that told him to stop. 

It was the first kiss they'd shared that wasn't hurried and messy. Elijah realised with some surprise that when he wasn't rushing things, Dom was actually pretty good at it; firm but not overbearing, and far less salivary when he took his time.

It wasn't until Dom's hand began to creep down Elijah's body that Elijah found the strength to pull away. "Dom, no. We shouldn't."

Dom sighed but didn't argue, falling away to lie on his back again. "Sorry. I just really fancy you still, and all that vampire talk didn't help." He grinned at the ceiling before directing it Elijah's way. "I think I have a vampire fetish I never knew existed before."

"Well, isn't that handy?"

"Isn't it just."

They lay in silence for a long while, Elijah mulling over the possibility of not pushing Dom away the next time he made a move. His gums ached at the thought, and Elijah remembered the warnings repeated over and over during rehabilitation: someone with an addiction would justify any action to get their fix. 

He glanced over at Dom; Dom was staring right back at him. Elijah noticed how Dom's eyes were slightly slanted, cat-like; Elijah liked that, considered them so much sexier than his own. He glanced at Dom's mouth and thought about how much he wanted to kiss it again.

Not bite - kiss. Elijah badly wanted to touch Dom, really take the time to explore his body. Finally seeing Dom naked a few nights back had been worth the wait, but now Elijah wanted more. Not necessarily sex, just time to look, and feel, and kiss. And then, yes, definitely sex. An awful lot of sex. 

But he didn't want to bite. Really he didn't. He had no intention of harming Dom, not right now, but Elijah knew that meant it was far from okay to let go of his reservations and throw caution to the wind. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. _One thing always leads to another_ , or so his therapist had drummed into him three times a week. _Never let yourself slide, Elijah. You'll always end up wanting to bite._

"Are you going to live forever?"

Dom broke the silence with the most ridiculous question Elijah could have imagined. He began to laugh, feeling the tension in his body fade away. "Fucking hell, Dom! No!"

"Well, that's probably for the best," Dom replied, voice thoughtful. '''Cause what with global warming and all, you probably wouldn't want to be here forever. I mean, where would you go to keep cool?"

"Canada," Elijah said. "Or Siberia. I'd go build myself an igloo in Siberia."

"Do they live in igloos there?"

"Probably not. I'd be a trendsetter."

Dom laughed at that. "Okay, one last question: garlic. For or against?"

"Dom?"

"Yes?"

"Shut the fuck up and let's get some sleep."

*

"Am I the first person you did this to?" 

Elijah stared at the ceiling. He was positive Dom had been quiet for a full two minutes, and for that he was grateful. "The first person I've bitten?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Yeah, you are." Tipping his head to the side, Elijah offered a tiny smile. "You should totally be flattered. You're the only person whose life I've wanted to ruin since this happened."

To Elijah's surprise, Dom cracked a real smile in return. Not a smirk, but a genuine, unabashed grin. "Really?"

Elijah laughed. "I swear. Orlando didn't count; I just wanted to lash out. You're the first person to seriously turn me-" Elijah paused, trying to think how to say what he wanted. "Y'know. All... _grr_."

Dominic eyes dropped, his delighted grin melting to something altogether more cocky. "I make you feel _grr_ , do I?"

"Uh huh," Elijah said, suddenly feeling nervous. It wasn't the way he wanted their conversation to go. It _couldn't_ go that way. Still, despite it all, the ache in his gums just kept on begging for attention. 

"Can I tell you a secret?" Dom whispered. Elijah could only nod in return. "The thought of you biting me like that again really turns me on." Dom took a hold of Elijah's hand and drew it beneath the quilt, resting it over his fly. Elijah's fingers stretched out, pressing against the denim, tracing the outline of his cock. "Nothing's happened to me, Elijah; I'm probably fine. We could do it one last time." 

Letting go of Elijah's hand, Dom slid his own across Elijah's stomach. Elijah's breath hitched when Dom fingers dragged across his nipple and up to his neck. "I've never met anyone like you before."

Elijah tilted his chin when Dom made a move to kiss him, sliding his hand over Dom's hip and over his ass, shifting closer when he felt Dom do the same. He felt Dom smile against his mouth, then a bite at his bottom lip. A hand settled in the small of his back and pulled him closer still. 

"I want to do it again, Elijah," Dom murmured. 

Elijah paused and pulled back a little. "I don't have anything. Any condoms or-"

"Not that," Dom interrupted. He reached up from under the quilt and cradled Elijah's jaw in his hand, running his thumb over Elijah's bottom lip. "Bite me."

Elijah was out of bed and across the room so fast he stumbled from a head rush. Stars burst in front of his eyes, and he rubbed at them frantically, trying to clear his vision. 

"Seriously, it's been two hours. I'm safe, right?" Dom called out. Elijah wanted to scream.

"You don't get it, do you?" He shouted back. "You and me, we can't do this!"

Dom frowned back at him. "But I know everything now. I know the risks and I still want to do it."

"You know jack shit, Dom! This isn't a-" Elijah waved his arms helplessly. "A _kink_. It's not something to have fun with. It's a fucking _disease_. And if I bite you, and you get sick, I could go back to that hospital. They would lock me up and throw away the key, and then they'd come for you. Don't you get that?"

Elijah watched Dom climb out of bed and cross the room towards him. He smiled benignly; Elijah had the sudden urge to punch him. "Surely not if there's consent?"

"You have an answer for everything, don't you?"

"You say that like it's a bad thing!"

Elijah's right hand twitched, spoiling for a fight. He hadn't felt this angry since his early sessions in therapy, back when he began to remember what Saul had done to him. Counselling had helped him work out his fury; he'd learned how to grieve for the life he'd lost and come to accept that chapter of his life was over. But now, with Dom practically throwing his life away on a whim, Elijah felt all his old hostility boiling back up. 

"You don't get it at all, Dom! You don't know what it's like, being locked up for months and months, nothing but fucking tests and injections! And even if you get out, you're too scared to go outside in case you smell someone and lose it." 

Dom cocked his head. "So, vampires don't do relationships? You could just be, like, monogamous or something."

Elijah gaped in return. " _You_ want a relationship?"

"I can _do_ them, you know, if I want to. I've had loads," Dom replied, looking wounded. 

"And how many of your boyfriends have you been faithful to, huh?"

Dom paused. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Because you're a walking epidemic, Dom," Elijah shouted. "Say I bite you and you catch it, and we're fine with each other for a while. Then you get bored, go out, meet some new guy. Don't tell me you wouldn't be tempted to have a little taste, just to see if they were better than me?"

"I want you to know I'm actually massively offended right now."

"Yeah, sure. But you know I'm right." Elijah pointed a finger. "So you bite this guy, and he gets infected, and he bites someone else, and someone else... and before you know it, lives fucked up forever, just like mine was. And they'd catch us, you know. They can trace the infection right back to the source, they told me so. We'd end up locked up for good in some fucking prison asylum. I've only just got my life back; there's no way I'm gonna let you fuck it up for me now."

Elijah glared at Dom, breathing hard. It felt amazing to finally explode, to tell Dom exactly how easily he could take the scrap of existence Elijah had fought for and destroy it. And then the realisation of it all hit him: he really _was_ going to be alone for the rest of his life. 

He walked over to the bed and slumped down onto the mattress, putting his head in his hands. Dom sat down beside him, placing a hand on his knee. 

"I really care about you. You know that, right? I'd really try to make a go of things with you, if that's what you wanted."

Elijah looked up. "I just can't trust you, Dom. Billy was right. You need to leave. Please, just do it."

"But I don't have anywhere else to go," Dom replied, his voice suddenly small and absurdly scared. "Look, if you don't trust me, give me a chance to prove myself. I meant what I said - I _do_ care about you."

"If that's true," Elijah said, "you'll leave. Please, Dom."

Dom stared at him for a long time. Elijah stared back, trying to hold onto his composure, to appear strong and defiant and decided. His pretence must have looked more convincing than it felt, because Dom swallowed hard and walked out of the room without another word.


	11. Viggo

"So this is the living room." Billy pushed open the door and led the way inside. "Pretty basic, um, settees, telly. The usual." He laughed, clearly uncomfortable with the general patter required to sell a house to a potential flatmate.

Viggo sympathised. He found the viewing process awkward himself. All that false geniality wasn't really him. On that basis, he decided this potential flatmate was already far ahead of any others he'd met. "How long have you lived here?" he asked as he walked towards the window and peered out onto the street. Not much of a garden; still, preferable to the attic bedsit he'd taken a look at two days ago. That didn't even have a window, let alone a scrap of land to call his own. 

"Ah," Billy exhaled, frowning, "about a year. We moved here last July, so, yeah, just over a year. Come on, I'll show you the bedroom."

Viggo followed Billy up the stairway and into the furnished but unoccupied room. He walked over to the bed and looked around; this was good. In fact, it was better than good. The furniture was old and shabby, but the room had a good feeling to it. Still, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle and knew instantly he was being watched. 

"Hello."

Viggo turned around at the sound of an unfamiliar voice and smiled at the man standing in the doorway. He stared at Viggo with open curiosity, but no smile in return. "Hi, nice to meet you," Viggo said as he held out his hand. "I'm Viggo."

"That's a weird name," came the reply, and the first signs of a smile. He was small and skinny looking, not so much pale as wan; his handshake was more for show than anything, being that it barely returned any pressure. "I'm Elijah."

Viggo realised with a start he hadn't acknowledged the presence of another person standing behind Elijah, someone who stared back with unquestionable hostility. "Hi there," he said. Elijah looked over his shoulder and then back at Viggo, frowning. "Sorry, excuse me," Viggo murmured, realising Elijah wasn't going to move out of his way without being asked.

When Elijah stepped aside, Viggo extended his hand and shook the one offered in return. "Viggo, nice to meet you."

"And you," replied the man, his scowl faltering a little. "Sean. This is my house."

"Aha. Well, it's a lovely property. How long have you been here?" From behind him, Viggo heard Elijah whisper, "Billy, can he-"

Billy's over-loud shush distracted Viggo further from his conversation. He glanced over his shoulder and realised both Billy and Elijah were gaping at him. Elijah's eyes were enormous, his hand gripping Billy's arm; Billy's eyes darted between Viggo and Sean. They both looked as if they'd seen a ghost.

"Eighty-six years, give or take," Sean said, drawing Viggo's attention back to him. "I lose track."

Viggo pondered the information for a moment, taking in Sean's youthful appearance and the reactions of Billy and Elijah. With calm realisation, he debated whether or not to ask the obvious question. Elijah jumped in before he had the chance.

"You can _see_ him, can't you?" he exclaimed. "Billy, he can _see_ -"

"Yes, Elijah, thank you," Billy said quietly, "I think that's fairly obvious."

Viggo looked from Elijah to Billy and back to Sean. Sean rolled his eyes. "It's nice to finally have someone here who actually pays attention to me. What do you think of the room? It was my master bedroom, but there's been people passing in and out of it for far too long now. I want someone sensible, not another Dom."

"Who's Dom?" Viggo asked, attention snapping back to Billy and Elijah when one of them gasped. Billy cleared his throat and glanced at Elijah. "This used to be Dom's room, until fairly recently. He moved."

"You're talking to him," Elijah whispered, eyes still impossibly wide. "You're actually having a conversation with him! What does he look like? What does he sound like? Fuck!"

"Sean?" Viggo looked to him for confirmation. Sean shrugged and waved his hand, dismissing the concern. "Well, ah, he's not much taller than either of you. Ah, brown hair, well dressed." Sean laughed pleasantly at that, and Viggo couldn't help but crack a smile. "California?" Sean nodded. "Yeah, he's American, from California."

"No way!" Elijah shook his head. "I never knew!"

"That's because you never asked," Sean said with a good-natured smile. "Too busy leaving cupboard doors open for people to bump their heads on."

Viggo laughed. "He says you never asked, and that you leave cupboard doors open all the time."

Both Elijah's and Billy's jaws dropped simultaneously. "Well, this is illuminating," Billy muttered when he had recovered himself.

"Speaking of which, have they shown you the kitchen, yet?" Sean asked. "I was busy when you arrived."

"No, not yet."

Sean walked towards the stairs and motioned for Viggo to follow him. "Come this way, then."

Viggo followed automatically, looking over his shoulder. "Sean's going to show me the kitchen, apparently." Billy and Elijah nodded mutely and followed, too.

"Have they told you about Orlando?" Sean looked over his shoulder as he walked downstairs. "Maybe you can talk to him, too. He doesn't speak. You could read his mind."

Viggo knew his gift didn't work that way, but he had no intention of being rude and arguing things. "Who's Orlando?" he asked Billy as they reached the downstairs hallway.

"Orli's in the garden," Elijah replied.

"I'm a carer," Billy explained. "I look after Orlando full time, and Elijah helps out when I'm at work. We'll introduce you when Sean's finished showing you around."

Viggo chuckled at the incredulous expression that still lingered on Billy's face. "Okay."

Sean busied himself showing Viggo every nook and cranny of the kitchen, explaining that a socket was out of use because it had sparked the week previous, making it clear that the appliances were to be unplugged when not being used, and the gas rings on the stove turned off at the wall, not just at the tap. Viggo smiled and nodded dutifully, finding Sean's sensibilities both charming and amusing. He was equally as aware of Billy and Elijah whispering furiously, throwing him looks now and again. Sean launched into a speech on the etiquette of toast making, announcing that no resident was to leave the toaster on unattended. 

"Well, that's everything I have to tell you in here. If you have any questions when I'm not around, don't ask those clowns over there. They mean well, but, well, you know how it is." Sean rolled his eyes. "If you want something done properly, do it yourself."

"Of course," Viggo replied good-naturedly. He turned to Billy and smiled. "I think he's done with me for now."

Billy made his way to the back door and gestured vaguely outside. "I'll introduce you to Orlando, then."

Viggo followed him out into the backyard, Elijah on his heels. The grass was overgrown but rich and green. Weeds sprouted in the flowerbeds that ran the entire length of the garden and, at the end, a small tree sagged with the weight of its unclipped branches. Billy led him around to a patio area, where a man with grey-and-brown-streaked hair sat on a slightly mouldy bench, staring off to one side. He didn't react when Billy bent down to address him.

"Orlando, this is Viggo. He's come to see the house." Billy straightened up and smiled a little awkwardly. "He doesn't speak, but he understands you. We think."

Viggo made his way towards Orlando and sat down beside him. "Hi, nice to meet you." Orlando's eyes settled on Viggo. His irises were intriguingly patchy, brown flecked with grey, just like his hair, and one seemed to be losing its pigment more than the other. They flickered from left to right, up and down, as if sizing Viggo up. "You have a beautiful house," Viggo said after a few seconds, not wanting to stare. 

Sean coughed. "Thank you."

Viggo looked at him and laughed. "Well, of course I meant you, Sean."

"Viggo can see Sean, Orlando! Isn't that cool?" Elijah chimed in.

"Are we having some sort of private party out here?" another voice called from the doorway. Viggo craned around Orlando to look at the new arrival; Elijah beamed happily.

"Dom! Come meet Viggo!"

The new arrival - Dom - appeared in the garden. Elijah grabbed his hand and hauled him over to stand in front of Viggo. "Viggo's looking at your old room," Elijah informed him. 

"Nice to meet you," Dom said, shaking hands politely. His smile was wide and instantly charming, his handshake far more confident than Elijah's. 

"He can see Sean!" Elijah hissed, elbowing Dom and staring at him with open excitement. "Viggo can. They were talking."

Dom smiled, more a smirk than anything this time. "Oh really? My arch-nemesis speaks, that's exciting. Did he tell you how much he hates me?"

"Dom used to have Sean's room," Elijah explained again as Dom slung an arm around Elijah's shoulders and pulled him closer. "They didn't get on."

"You moved out?"

"I moved in, and then out. And then back in," Dom said, waving his hand back and forth. 

"And then _out_ again," said Elijah.

"But only for a few weeks. Doesn't really count, does it?"

" _Totally_ doesn't count," Elijah agreed. "And then he came back, and sorta moved out again..."

"Only across the hall," Dom said. "Different bed, that's all." His smile became a leer when he directed it Elijah's way. Elijah laughed. 

"They're, um. They share a room," Billy offered unnecessarily. Elijah snorted. Dom rolled his eyes and grinned.

"Yes, we _share_. Thanks for that, Bill." Dom looked at Viggo and dropped his voice to a stage whisper. "We're very, _very_ special friends."

Billy scowled. Viggo laughed. "I see. So, is that everyone?"

"That's everyone," Billy confirmed, gesturing for Viggo for follow him back inside, leaving Dom, Elijah and Orlando in the garden. He closed the door behind him and lowered his voice. "Listen, you might have already guessed how complicated things are here. Between Sean and Orlando and those two idiots," Billy nodded towards the window just as Elijah ran down the length of the garden, Dom in close pursuit, "it can be... well, it can be a little..."

Viggo grinned. "Complicated?"

"Yeah." Billy exhaled and smiled back. "That really is the only word for it. Orlando's no bother, don't get me wrong, and Elijah... well," he nodded towards the window again. "Elijah's had a few problems. He's working on them, though; going out into the garden, putting out the rubbish. Baby steps."

Viggo followed Billy's gaze. Outside, Dom grabbed Elijah around the waist and tackled him to the grass amidst high-pitched shrieks. Sean wandered in, passing effortlessly through the closed door, rolling his eyes. "Those grass stains will never come out. And one of these days they'll break a rib, so help me."

"Did you say Elijah doesn't go out?" Viggo asked after smiling politely at Sean.

Billy nodded. "No further than the garden right now. Agoraphobia. But like I said, he's getting there, and Dom's helping him a lot." He looked back at Viggo and wet his lips, suddenly and obviously nervous. "I, er, wondered if you might have any problem with, er, _dogs_ , at all?"

"Dogs?" Viggo smiled, amused by Billy's discomfort. It seemed so unnecessary considering the nature of the question. "No problem at all. I love them. Why?"

Billy visibly relaxed at that, smiling. "No reason. We just dog sit for the neighbours now and again."

"Dogs, cats, snakes... I'm easy," Viggo said. "So, is the room available now?"

"Oh! God, yeah. Today, if needs be." 

Viggo glanced out into the garden. Dom yanked Elijah up from the grass, onto his feet and into a hug. He looked back at Billy, who was tapping his mouth with a balled-up fist, looking nervous again. Just behind him, Sean gave Viggo a warm smile and a double thumbs up. 

"Okay." Viggo nodded. "I'll take it."


End file.
